Camaraderie and Solitude
by Hanna B. L'Ectre
Summary: True friendship is like sound health; the value of it is seldom known until it be lost. -Charles Caleb Colton
1. Chapter 1

Well, after months of deliberation and revision, I have decided to put this fic, _Camaraderie and Solitude,_ up here. Forgive me if I sound a bit less confident than usual, but I have a bit of a phobia of chapter fics. They scare me. Anyway, this is set around the time of _The Lost Colony_, (yes, I wrote this that long ago...), but you can make it fit with _The Time Paradox,_ if you use your imagination, I suppose. Also, if there are any mistakes or things that do not add up with the books that I have messed up on, please let me know. I did my best to keep my books handy for research, but you know how it goes. At any rate, try to enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer does...and if he knew what I was doing to his babies, he'd probably kill me.**

**WARNING: This fic, light as it may be, has trace amounts of slash. Yes, slash. You have been warned.**

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

Famed author Elais Martin sat in his favorite chair, sprawled upon it like a sheik surveying his latest spoils in distaste. In his hand was the _New York Times_, and he was disgusted to find that he was featured on page 12: the Author Spotlight segment of the paper:

_"Like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its former self, greenhorn author Elais (pronounced Eh-lie-iss) Martin has risen just as dramatically to the top of every bestsellers list of any repute. This grand entrance into the literary world has granted Mr. Martin a spot in our Author Spotlight Hall of Fame 2010. A striking, albeit mysterious figure, little is known about this fascinating newcomer, and since he has shrugged away interviews left and right, even less is known about where this young blockbuster is headed. But, also like the phoenix, he is sure to dazzle—"_

The rest of the article was pitched into the little trashcan that sat beside him, along with his disposable coffee cup. He sighed, running his hands through his hair. This was not the way that he had imagined things to be. He hadn't come to this godforsaken country to be deified; his goals were much less noble. 'Well,' he thought bitterly to himself, 'I suppose I've gotten what I deserve, haven't I?' Stretching cat-like in his seat, he started at the sound of the door opening. He hated it when people didn't knock before entering rooms; then again, this was America. Manners weren't the highest on their list of priorities.

"Who the devil is it?" The maid, the sixth one this month, dropped her broom, her brown eyes wide and worrisome. Cynthia had been the most persistent one yet, but not the best. Elais supposed he should give her some credit for being brave.

"Oh, Mr. Martin! I-I was just about to sweep. Did I disturb you?" Elais waved her on, shaking his head.

"No, no. Go on." She stood still, unsure of what to do. "Go, I said!" She shuffled off to her task as quickly as she could, not meeting her employer's gaze, cold as winter. He stared out the huge bay windows that brought sunlight into the room and spoke again in an accent attributable to no particular country. "Cynthia?" The maid stopped her frantic sweeping and answered nervously.

"Y-yes, Mr. Martin?" Rising from his chair, he smiled his terrible smile at her, and he could tell that she wanted to turn tail. He only hoped that she did.

"You are doing a _marvelous _job, I must say."

"Really, sir?" The smile vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her baffled. He turned on his heel, ascending the modern staircase, which seemed to hover magically over the floor, to his study. His bare feet were cold against the wooden planks, and he slid them into a pair of slippers before settling down to his computer. He barely had time to get the cushion warm before a coarse voice broke the sacred silence of his workroom.

"You know, you may actually have to do your laundry yourself if you don't stop scaring away your maids." Women like this one were the reason that he greatly questioned the idea that God was merciful, or if he existed at all. He swiveled around in his great leather chair to pin the intruder to the wall with his ice-block eyes. "Oh, don't give me that look. You know full well that it doesn't work on me, Elais."

Enter Lillian Jansen McKee, editor, cheerleader and viper all rolled into one. Despite the fact that Elais hated her with a passion, he had been compelled to hire her, mostly because she was the only interviewer who hadn't shamefully kissed up to him during her entire session. She was tenacious and fiery, her hair a testament to her temperament and her heritage: clearly Irish through and through. He tapped her foot impatiently at the door, expensive Prada clicking against the maple floor panels.

"Did Cynthia offer you a cup of coffee? It's Brazilian; very good." Elais knew what Lillian was here for; she was not about to be diverted. She came further into the study, hands crossed on her well-endowed chest and eyes narrowed.

"So? Where is it?" He gazed up at her innocently.

"Where is what?" She sighed heavily, hand rising to her forehead.

"The last chapter of your "greatest work yet"? The chapter that you have been working on for three weeks?! The one you _assured _me…" Elais cut her off with a manicured index finger. He only had so much patience with her rages.

"I assured you that it would be finished by the end of the month. Today is June 28th. I believe I have two more days before the month ends, am I right?" She growled, pacing back and forth in her frustration like a caged tiger.

"Fine, then. If you want to keep the people at the _Times _hanging…"

"That is exactly what I intend to do. Their author spotlight piece was atrocious. Let them squirm; I don't care." Stopping her tirade across the study, she put a hand to her hip, hugged in Gucci suede.

"And just what was so terrible about it? It was well-written…"

"By your standards."

"By _anybody's _standards—will you _please _stop cutting me off? It's killing me." She took a breath and continued. "It was written by one of the best in the business, and furthermore, it was in the _Times,_ Elais. That alone should be enough to make you happy." But it wasn't. Nothing was. Lillian sighed heavily and collected herself. "Fine. What was it this time? Too many commas?"

"Their analogy of the phoenix…was inappropriate. They likened me to the incorrect mythological creature, Lillian." He leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs gracefully and steepling his long, tapered fingers. "I did not rise from ashes, like a phoenix. My origins are more accurately represented by that of the winged horse Pegasus." The look that Elais gave her was so completely empty that it even sent shivers down her spine. Though he didn't finish his sentence, Lillian was familiar enough with mythology to figure out what he meant. It wasn't fire that he rose from; it was blood.

* * *

Holly stormed through the halls of the Council Building to their inner chamber, pushing all sorts of officials this way and that to clear her path. Behind her, Foaly trotted nervously to keep up. His eyes practically bugging out of his head, he held his aluminum foil hat atop it with one hand and reached for his furious friend with the other.

"Holly!! This isn't…going to solve…anything!" He gasped, trying to keep his breath as he hurried down the hall in her dust.

"Well, Foaly, I guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?" She continued to blaze a trail of offended workers until she reached the doors of the Council Chambers.

"Now, you wait just a minute! Tell me something," Foaly finally managed to catch up, now that she had arrived at her destination. "You're already on the watch list of practically every one of the Council members and you want to ruin your career on this?"

"I don't give a troll's hindquarters about my _job,_ Foaly! He's my friend! I have to do this!" The centaur sighed, scratching his head anxiously.

"I had the looming feeling that you would say that…"

"D'Arvit! How much longer is he going to have to wait, Foaly? He's been in that cryo tube for years! _Years, _Foaly! For a council who doesn't favor having a human underground for such an extended period of time, they certainly aren't doing a thing about it!" Putting his hand on her heaving shoulders, Foaly nodded.

"I know, I know. But storming in there with your guns blazing is going to solve nothing. I mean, come on, Holly…he doesn't have that much to go home _to,_ does he? When he wakes up, you'll have to tell him about what happened, and I get the feeling that he won't be the happiest Mud Man on the block." Holly's face fell; she didn't like to think about it, and he hated reminding her, but if it would calm her down enough to leave this alone, even for a day more, it would be alright.

"Foaly…we can't wait any more. It's been six years. There's been no sign of the kid anywhere, and frankly…I'm worried about him. The smartest boy in the world watched his best friend die in his arms. He could be anywhere." She let her hands drop to her sides helplessly. "What am I supposed to do? Wait for replies to messages that are probably never even heard?" Foaly sighed; he couldn't argue with that.

"No, you're right. We have to do something. But…" He smiled cleverly. "Let's take a more diplomatic approach. You still have _somebody_ in the council, right?" She nodded.

"Yeah. Vinyaya is still in for a few more years."

"Well, listen. If you can get her to convince them-"

"Foaly, we've tried that. They won't hear her out. They're just waiting for her to retire so that they can have a new slate to scribble all over. It's hopeless." Foaly gave her a skeptical look.

"Since when has Holly Short given up hope, huh? Just so happens that I have a private line to Vinyaya's office open, just for you." Holly sighed and ran her hands through her hair, which was in desperate need of a trim.

"For the sake of your job, Foaly, I'm not going to ask how you managed that." He nodded all-knowingly.

"Probably a good idea." The two friends made their way to Foaly's lab, where the transmission was waiting patiently to be connected. "So? You know what you're gonna say?" Holly smirked, pulling her hair up into a ponytail atop her head.

"I have a pretty good idea of how to convince her." The transmission began to boot, and Foaly picked up a book and began to read, sending Holly's thin eyebrows upward in surprise. "Since when do you read actual literature?"

"Hey, he's good!" She blinked blankly. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of him. He's all over the Mud Men's news. Elais Martin this, Elais Martin that. Thought I would see if he was really all he's cracked up to be."

"Sounds like a crock of dwarf manure to me." He shrugged light-heartedly.

"Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it." At that, Vinyaya's face appeared on the screen. She was so much older than Holly remembered. It was amazing what time did to people; she figured that her former teacher hadn't been having the best of times in the Council chambers.

"Captain Short? What is this?" Holly sighed and began what may be her final argument—or at least, the last one that meant anything.

"I wanted to talk about the revival of the Mud Man we salvaged. It's been six years since he was placed in cryo. The boy Artemis Fowl is still missing, and I think that if we could just bring him out of his sleep, that—"

"Captain, that is a moot point. The subject has been dead in council for at least a year, perhaps more." She ran a hand through her silvery hair. Her face was stern, but there was sympathy in her eyes. "You sent search parties after Fowl many times, did you not?"

"Yes."

"All led by you, am I not correct?" Holly saw where this was going, and it wasn't going well.

"Yes."

"The teams you assemble are the very best, possibly the best since Root's heyday, and yet they couldn't find a boy?" 'He is no ordinary boy, and she knows it.' Holly thought venomously to herself. "Holly, if you couldn't find him, then you know what the most probable scenario is."

"He is not dead! That's just what the Council wants to believe!" She was on fire now; even Foaly knew to get out of the way when she was this riled up. He maneuvered his chair back, giving her plenty of space. "This man is the only one who can find him; he's the only one who understands Artemis enough to do it. I told the council that years ago, and they wouldn't listen. Now, Artemis could be established any_where_, doing any_thing_, disguised as any_one_. He is the greatest mind of our time, and more than likely not completely sane. If we don't find him soon, he may do something so terrible that…that…" She finally lost words, waiting instead for Vinyaya's response.

"…Captain Short." Vinyaya's voice was clipped. "I will _try_ to get the Council's support. But if this does not go through, you must promise me that you will never speak of it again. Understand?" Holly nodded. She had used her final lifeline, she realized. There was nothing more that she could do.

"Understood, ma'am." With a short salute, the transmission ended, and Holly sank into a hover chair, head in her hands. Foaly cantered over to her, patting her on the shoulder.

"It's alright. If anybody can get this through, she can. Maybe if we can get Lope and Cahartez to come out of retirement and back her up, we'll have a chance. Listen, Holly. This isn't your fault." Holly's shoulders quivered and she entwined her fingers in her hair. "Holly?" But she wasn't listening; her lips moved in a barely audible whisper.

"I'm sorry, Butler. I think I've failed you."

* * *

Feedback_, s'il vous plait._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two. Really, I don't think it needs much introduction--if you liked Chapter One enough to get here, thank you for reading! I do want to apologize if this seems, well...rushed. It really looked much longer before...I hope it doesn't start to bore. Anywho, let's continue, shall we?

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

It was July 3rd. The book had flown through his agent's office and to the shelves, where it disappeared just as quickly into the book bags and briefcases of the world. And Elais could not be more miserable. With the success of his newest book, the press had given him little peace. They begged him for interviews; each time he turned them down. He knew they were out in his yard, waiting for him to take one step out into the outside world. He wasn't about to fall for it. Removing his glasses, he flung himself to his bed, knowing full well that sleep would elude him yet again. It had always been this way, even when he was a child; his ideas and thoughts buzzed in his mind like a hive of bees lodged into his parietal lobe. Only one thing had been able to get him to sleep at home…

He wasn't going to think about that.

He glanced over to the table where a pile of his books were stacked, along with his contact lens container and a violin case: empty, the missing instrument still downstairs from his practice. Peeking out from behind the heap of paperbacks and hardbacks was the corner of a picture frame. Ensconced within its gilded arms was a pair of blue eyes, dark as ocean trenches. They bored holes into Elais, as if the photo paper itself was imbued with life.

"I told you that I was sorry."

There was no answer, of course. He rose from the bed and padded over to the table, taking the frame in his pale hands. With his long finger he traced the firm jaw, the crow's feet just emerging in the corners of the trenches, the soft mouth…and flung it across the room. As the frame struck the wall, glass flew in all directions, as if in slow motion, and Elais watched intently, lips slightly parted. The eyes continued to stare from beneath the shattered glass. He walked over to the mess, sifting through the razor-sharp pieces. His fingers bled from the minute shards, embedding themselves into his flesh. Upon rescuing the photo he slipped it into his coat, which hung on a hook on the wall. He lowered his lips to the pocket and whispered:

"I'm sorry for that, too."

* * *

"Are you still reading that Mud Man book?" Holly nudged Foaly with her sharp elbow. The centaur nodded enthusiastically.

"He came out with a new one yesterday. I'll have to find a way to get it through the checks." The two were waiting for some sort of response from Vinyaya, as they had been waiting for one since the transmission five days prior. Holly had taken up braiding bracelets out of the spare wires in Foaly's workshop as entertainment, keeping Commander Kelp out of her hair with promises of overtime and vacation cuts.

"Foaly, you're just too much." A sly grin spread across the centaur's face.

"Oh, please, Holly. You know you can't get enough of me." Before Holly could reply or threaten him, the computer before them beeped, and Foaly checked his readings. "A transmission from the Council Chamber! I think this is it!" Sure enough, Vinyaya's lined face appeared on the screen, completely unreadable. Holly's heart sank; she had a feeling that her news wasn't going to be good.

"The Council has made their final decision on the case of Butler, Holly." She nodded vigorously.

"And?" Vinyaya sighed and ruffled her colorless hair.

"The Council voted 5 to 4…in favor of a full revival." Holly's eyes danced with joy. She practically flew from her seat to the screen.

"Really?! When?"

"By the end of the week, some the most skilled magic users in Haven City are going to get to work on it. Everything has been arranged." This was too good to be true. Butler was finally going to live again, and maybe, just maybe, she could see Artemis once again. "You know, Captain Short, you are quite the convincing speaker. I let the Council listen to what you told me five days ago. I must say, they were quite taken with your reasoning. Well, _five_of them were, at any rate." She nodded, her hair shimmering in the light of her office. "Perhaps you should have gone into oratory rather than the LEP, hm?"

"Wouldn't change for anything, ma'am." Vinyaya smiled kindly.

"I had no doubt that you would say that. Make sure that your schedule is clear this weekend. Don't want to miss the revival of your friend, now do you?"

"No, ma'am." A salute ended the transmission, and all of the energy that Holly had pent up inside of herself was released. She hugged Foaly with all her might. "He's coming back, Foaly! He's coming back!" He choked out a response from between her wiry arms.

"Yeah, yeah, I heard! D'Arvit, it took a long enough, didn't it?"

"It doesn't matter now." Holly paused to catch her breath, tears forming in her eyes. "It's done. By the end of the week…we'll have Butler back." She rose from her chair and rushed to her office. "I have to get everything ready." Foaly smiled warmly. It had been such a long time since he had seen her so happy. He just hoped that her hopes weren't in vain. After all, even he'd like to see that irritating little Mud Boy again…if anything, to have a chance to show him up. What was it that the Mud Men said? Just like the good ol' days.

Holly waited impatiently for those last three days, canceling all but the most urgent missions and practically bursting out of her skin for the excitement. Foaly would visit, trying to keep her at least calm enough to avoid suspicious looks, but finally the day came, and there was no stopping her on their way to the cryo chamber.

"So, what are you going to tell him?" Holly glanced over to Foaly, who was twiddling his thumbs as they walked. "Well, it's just…I know your excited to see Butler again, but this reunion of ours isn't going to be all moonlight and roses, you know." She stopped in the middle of the hall; she had been so excited, she hadn't even planned out her explanation of what had happened while he was asleep.

"I know that, but I think that he can handle it. He's Butler. He's beaten a troll, come back from the dead twice already, and dealt with Artemis for a little less than twenty years. That alone is a feat. What can't he handle?" Foaly pawed at the ground with his hooves.

"That's just the thing. I pretty sure that it's going to be the Artemis issue that causes problems." Holly sighed and nodded.

"Yes, I know, I know…but that's the whole point of doing this, Foaly. With Butler's help, we might be able to finally have a chance at finding him."

"You're not assuming that this is all going to turn out like one of those Mud Man television shows, are you? All happy endings and hugs and kisses?" She scoffed and grabbed the handle of the door separating them from Butler's cryo tube.

"Please, Foaly. I'm not that stupid. I'm an LEP; prepared for anything." That wasn't entirely true. She wasn't sure if she was prepared for another failed search, or the disappointment of a botched revival. To be perfectly honest, she hadn't even let the idea cross her mind…until now, of course. But she wasn't about to let Foaly know that.

By the time she and Foaly had walked in, the team of warlocks that Vinyaya had chosen for the task of reviving Butler were already finished, slumped against their chairs in exhaustion. It was only a matter of time now; the knot of excitement and dread in Holly's stomach tightened. She made her way to Butler's side, stroking his cold face, which had already gained some color.

"Come on, old friend. One more time. Just one more time." Beneath his frosted eyelids twitched the slightest of movements. He was alive.

* * *

In an abandoned warehouse just shy of New York City shivered Gerald Forsythe, heir to the enormous Forsythe wine fortune and known connection to the Russian Mafiya. He was blindfolded and gagged, his arms and legs tied to what felt to him like a straight-backed chair, much like the ones that lined his dining hall tables. He tried to calm his breathing, not wanting to hyperventilate or suck the scratchy cloth that stifled his speech down his throat. He had expected to run into trouble eventually—the Mafiya didn't take kindly to the kind of double-dealing he had been engineering—but he had no idea that they would find out so quickly. He had covered all of his tracks and touched all of the bases. What had he missed?

"Mr. Forsythe." A voice like summer rain, soft and unrelenting, reached his ears.

"Mm-mpmh mmggh?" He heard footsteps coming toward him, and by the way the heels were clicking against the floor, those footsteps sounded expensive. The gag was roughly pulled from his mouth, and he stretched his sore jaw muscles.

"Do you know why you are here?" Gerald did not respond immediately, and that earned him a leather slap across the face, the smell of lavender soap filling his nostrils. "Do you _know _why you are here?"

"Wh-who are you? Did…did the Mafiya send you?" No answer. "L-look. I know I owe you guys a lot of money, but I'll p-pay you back, I s-swear!" The silence that followed crept up inside him like something alive. He choked out a sob in pure fear. "H-hello? Are you there?"

"I am not with the Mafiya, Mr. Forsythe. However," The footsteps began again; he could hear his captor circling him like a vulture, calculating the best time to feed. "It is the Mafiya that brings me here. You have information that I find extremely valuable." Gerald snickered; a wet, nasally sound.

"I'm not telling you anything…whoever you are. You might be able to scare me, but the Mafiya doesn't waste their time with theatrics like this. I'm not messing with the Mafiya, no sir." A soft chuckle barely reached his ears.

"Mr. Forsythe, you already _have_"messed with the Mafiya", as you so quaintly put it. And now, you are going to tell me everything you know about them. What they are planning, where they conduct their meetings, their base of operations…everything."

"Hehe…why do you think they would tell me that?" A bead of sweat rolled beneath Gerald's collar.

"Because, Mr. Forsythe. I happen to know that you are one of their wealthiest contributors. I have dealt with the Russian Mafiya before, and I know that they do not keep those loyal to them out of the loop. Then again," The silky voice deepened. "You haven't been the most loyal, have you, Mr. Forsythe?"

"Look…my associates are gonna want me back. They'll pay big money to see me come home unharmed, alright?" The voice laughed, a laugh dead and cold as the Reaper himself.

"It is not money that I want, Mr. Forsythe. I have already told you what I want. Now, you will give it to me…" The barrel of a gun, hard and cold, was pressed to the back of his head, "…or I will kill you right here. There will be no one to hear you scream. There will be no one to save you. They will find you here, brains splattered across the pavement, and nobody will know who or why. More than likely, they will assume that the Mafiya had you killed for your tricks. As they should. It would be the logical chain of reasoning. Now, I will ask you once more. Where are the Mafiya headed? What are they planning?"

"Alright, alright!" Gerald was bawling now, the pitiless voice behind him had terrified him out of his wits. "I d-don't wanna die!"

"Then tell me."

"They're going after a c-company in Europe. Some sort of charity s-set up in Ireland. They said they have unfinished b-business there, but they won't tell me what that business is."

"Mm." The voice was a bit kinder now. "And where are they gathering their forces?"

"I…"

"You _do_know, Mr. Forsythe." Could this monster read minds? "_Tell me."_ The barrel of the gun pushed harder into his skull.

"Okay, okay!! T-they're in B-Baltimore, working with the boys in Jersey." Gerald's voice had escalated to a frantic shriek. "Alright! I told you everything I know. Pleeease, let me go now! Please!" The quiet came again, save for his terrified sobbing, which echoed in the air around him. "H-h-hello?

"Perhaps you would like a drink, Mr. Forsythe." He heard the familiar popping of a cork, the sloshing of wine into a glass. "Your family's wine really is quite exquisite, to have been made in America. I was quite impressed with it." The blindfold was removed from his eyes, and Gerald couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Y-you're just a kid!" Gerald was finally face to face with his tormentor: a young man dressed impeccably in a suit of black, hands gloved in matching leather. His eyes were shielded by sleek, dark glasses. He ran his right through his hair, which was slicked with gel, before raising the glass of wine to his prisoner's lips.

"Drink, Mr. Forsythe." He obeyed, not wanting to tempt fate again and end up dead. After taking several sips from the crystal flute, his captor pulled a heavy-duty titanium stapler from behind his back: the "gun" that had been pressed up against his head the entire time.

"Y-you little bastard! I'll kill you! You are _dead__! _You hear me? _Dead!_" The bastard's grin sent a chill down Gerald's spine. Where the hell had this man come from—if he was a man at all?

"No, Mr. Forsythe. _You_are dead. You will begin to lose your memory of what has happened tonight in approximately two minutes. It's a little amnesiac formula that I concocted a while back. I have been looking for the chance to test it. Then again, the dosage was rather high, so…you may be unsure of your identity for a few days. Or weeks, give and take." His cruel smirk widened as he untied Gerald from the chair. He fell to the concrete floor, feeling his mind muddy up almost immediately. "Good evening, Mr. Forsythe. Thank you for your cooperation."

And he couldn't help but wonder…who was Mr. Forsythe?

* * *

Feedback would be much appreciated, yes.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to all of you who have read so far. This will be the last chapter for a while, need to let this one sink in for a while. Anyway, welcome to Chapter Three, and enjoy.

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

Butler opened his eyes slowly, the strong light above him burning them. His arms and legs felt as fluid and useless as melted ice cream, and when he tried to lift his head, he was met with a heavy, invisible resistance. Where was he? Certainly not at the mansion. What had happened? He was almost afraid, unsure of his surroundings. Had he been captured? As far as he knew, anything could have happened to him.

"Butler?" A familiar voice. Who? "Holly, he's awake!" The manservant squinted his dark eyes. It was Foaly, the centaur. But…what was he doing here?

"Butler?" Holly's voice reached his ears, which rang with a strange, high-pitched squeal, as if bomb had gone off nearby his head. He winced, her voice grating against his eardrums. "How do you feel?"

"Holly?" His voice was cracked and he practically had to force the words from his lips.

"Welcome back to the real world, old friend." He blinked, a puzzled look on his face.

"The…" Holly hushed him, putting a delicate finger to his lips.

"Wait. We'll explain everything later, so just get some rest, alright? In a few hours, you should be able to move again." He nodded, too tired to argue. Closing his eyes, he fell back to sleep, not knowing that he had been doing just that for over half a decade.

* * *

Elais pulled into his driveway and groaned at the sight of his editor's lime Jaguar parked in his space. He grudgingly made his way into the house, hanging up his coat and shedding his gloves, chucking them into the electric fireplace without a thought and turning up the flame full blast. What the devil did she want, at this time of night? From behind him he could hear her making her way toward him from the kitchen, heels clicking and a cigarette hanging from her fingers. Elais switched on the air purifiers built into the walls.

"Elais? Where the hell have you been? I've been waiting here for two hours!"

"For what? I told you that I would be busy tonight. Besides, we have nothing to discuss. And I also told you that I do not appreciate your smoking in my house. It stains the curtains and it stains my lungs." She gave him a skeptical look.

"Forget the cig, honey. Nothing to discuss? You are the most popular author in America, and we have nothing to discuss? And why are you wearing that ridiculous suit? You look like some kind of hitman." Elais sighed, rolling his eyes and unbuttoning the jacket of his ridiculous suit.

"Did you not understand me the first time? I had business to attend to."

"You had business that I wasn't aware of?" Shooting an icy glare in her direction, he spat back.

"You, madam, are my editor, not my mother, and I do not appreciate your prying into my affairs." Her eyebrow jumped upward like a spark from a match.

"Affairs?" Chuckling, she kicked off her heels and sank into the plush leather of his sofa. "Is it a woman? A man?" She continued, knowing that it irritated him.

"Make all of the assumptions that you will, I am going to tell you nothing more." Shrugging and stretching out onto the couch, she pulled a pillow beneath her, propping herself up to look at him, but he was gone, more than likely changing out of that suit of his. Several minutes later he returned, gracefully descending the staircase in his nightclothes: a crisp pair of blue cotton night clothes. He had thrown a matching silk bathrobe over it all and his hair was neatly plaited into a short braid that hung to the base of his neck.

"Well, don't you look cute?" No answer. Well, she had gotten used to that. She continued without a hitch. "I came here to talk about your publicity—or lack thereof. You need to do some kind of interview, Elais. If you don't try to speak out to your audience, they are eventually going to get fed up with you." He responded with a tone as sharp as the crack of a whip.

"Stephen King. One of the greatest writers of the mystery thriller genre, and I do not remember a time when he did a public interview. Lemony Snicket. Extremely popular children's writer who kept his identity a secret, even wrote a book detailing a false past to keep his fans unaware. Anonymity is not a writer's enemy. Besides," He sighed, pushing a strand of his coal black hair away from his face. "I have nothing to say to them." Lillian sighed heavily, rolling her eyes.

"Just answer a few of their questions, and they will be happy. Let them take a few pictures, and they will be satisfied. _Anything_! Just give them the slightest impression that you care, even if it's a broad-faced lie."

"…" He was silent for a moment; his gaze diverted to the windows, where outside the sun was making its bed in the hills beyond. He did this from time to time, simply disconnected his mind from the rest of reality, his eyes fixed on something that nobody else was able to see. After several minutes in this trance, he responded, eyes still fixed on the world outside. "Who is it that wants to interview me?"

"Larry King. Oh, come on; give the old man a break. It will be one of the last interviews of his career. The fact that it is one of his last will make it more memorable to the audience, and make your job easier. Just…please, do this for me?"

"Since when do I care about doing anything for you?" Despite the knowledge that most of his spite was hot air, that one made something inside Lillian throb.

"I know, I know." She blew it off, sitting up in her seat on the couch, pillow lodged between her ample breasts and her pale legs. "You know, if you hate me so much, why have you kept me around for so long? I'm sure that a little hottie like you could get any editor in the world." Expecting some no-nonsense answer, like she usually received from him, she was surprised with what he said.

"You remind me of someone. Someone I used to know. Someone with just as much fire in their heart as you." And with that, he made his way back to the stairs, stopping only to pour himself a cup of tea from the pot that rested on the stove and that never seemed to run dry. He left her on the sofa, confused and disturbed by the glint of pain in Elais' eye.

"Good night," she called after him. No answer, but of course, she was used to that. Only when she saw the lights dim in the upstairs and heard the soft sounds of Beethoven float down to her ears did she grab her car keys and drive back to her penthouse, her mind buzzing with what had happened that night.

* * *

When Butler next awoke, he was sitting up in his bed at Fowl Manor. All of things were in place, just as he had left them, lying in wait for him. It was as if nothing had happened, as if the whole thing had been some sort of crazy dream. But something wasn't right; something was missing. Rubbing his head, which throbbed with a sourceless headache, he blinked away the sleep from his eyes. 'It hadn't been a dream,' he thought to himself. He had felt Holly's finger on his lips, he had seen Foaly gazing down at him with worry. But what on Earth was he doing here?

"Domovoi?" Juliet opened the door to his bedroom, a tray of food in her hands. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying.

"Juliet…what's the matter?" Making her way to his bed, she sat down the tray and flung her arms around his neck.

"Oh, my God! Dom!" She sobbed into the crook of his neck, squeezing him tighter. He returned her embrace, stroking her fair hair. "I thought…I thought I would never see you again!" Before he asked her one of the hundreds of questions that buzzed around his mind, he asked the only one that mattered.

"Where is Artemis?" She abruptly stopped crying, wiping her eyes and looking away.

"About that, Domovoi…" At that, Holly stepped out of the closet, picking a pair of slacks off of her head.

"Juliet, those clothes you packed up there weren't very well-secured…" She muttered something in her mother language before moving next to Butler, sitting on the corner of the bed and barely making a dent. "That's kind of why you're here, Butler." The sadness in Holly's eyes scared him.

"What happened to me?" Holly cleared her throat and began.

"Six years ago, you and Artemis were outside in the garden, just sitting and having a chat." Slowly, Butler recalled that particular day. Artemis' parents had been on their second honeymoon, and the two had been at home by themselves. He also recalled that they were doing a bit more than chatting. "At about 3:30 in the afternoon, somebody managed to slip past the defenses of Fowl Manor with a gun and—here's what amazed me the most—managed to shoot you in the back before you could react. You died bleeding in Artemis' arms." His mind reverted to the fiasco with Jon Spiro, where he had also lost his life. Butler closed his eyes, fearing the worst.

"And…Artemis?"

"We had been monitoring the house at the time, thank the Gods, and we made it there before anything could happen to Artemis. A couple of flash grenades scared them off. But as far as Artemis was concerned…well, we couldn't have been more wrong. Something _had _happened to him. Something inside him…well, it snapped." She paused, letting her words sink in.

"Is he—"

"Wait, just…let me finish, alright? We had learned from Artemis' actions the last time that this had happened, and brought with us a portable cryogenic chamber. While somebody kept an eye on Artemis, we got you inside, hoping that somehow you could be revived. We'll get to that in a minute. Afterwards, I went to check on Artemis. The officer that was keeping watch over him had been knocked out with a vase and the tracking device that we planted in his arm had been…cut out." Butler flinched at that; the thought of Artemis hurting himself was sickening. "He ran off and…he never came back. That's why we woke you, to try and help us find him. We would have done it much earlier, but I was only just able to convince the Council to have it done a few days ago." Holly waited for a response, but Butler just sat, huge fists clenched, eyes downcast. "Butler?"

"And you have no idea where he is."

"No. We looked in all of the places we thought he might go, but…nothing." Butler nodded solemnly.

"That was your first mistake. You know Artemis, Holly." He smiled sadly. "He always does what you least expect." She wringed her tiny hands nervously.

"So, do you think we can do it? Find him, I mean." Butler raised his head and smiled at his fairy friend.

"If there's a way, I'm going to find it." His eyes, like pools of midnight, shone with determination. "_We're_ going to find _him_." Holly flashed him a smile before flitting off to establish communication with Foaly, who was keeping things sane at the LEP while she was gone. Butler rose from his bed, legs still wobbly from disuse, and made his way to his closet. He would have to do a great deal of training to get his body back in shape.

"Dom?" Juliet finally spoke again. "Everything's there, you just might have to dig a bit. Most of your suits are packed up on the top shelf there." Nodding, he pulled down one of the long boxes that contained his clothing. Attached to the lid was a Post-It Note, detailing the contents: _black suit, white shirt, blue tie_. It was a classic, one that he wore during some of Artemis' most daring endeavors. He thought that it was fitting. At the very least, he would recognize it.

His reflection in the mirror was not how he remembered it. He had gone through quite a few transformations since meeting the fairies, but this was the first time that he actually looked…_younger. _Smirking at himself, he unpacked his clothing. As he dressed in the bathroom, he noticed a small box nestled in the folds of his suit jacket. He pulled it out and opened it. There, resting on a tiny silk cushion, were a pair of cufflinks: silver, each set with a teardrop of sapphire. They had been a Christmas gift from Artemis, given in exchange for certain favors. He clipped them on and went back into his room, addressing his LEPRecon friend.

"So. Are we ready?" Holly rose up from her seat on the bed.

"Whenever you are, big guy."

* * *

Feedback is appreciated, as per usual. See you at Chapter Four!


	4. Chapter 4

Alright, due to popular demand...if three reviews counts as "popular demand", I am putting up three more chapters of my fic. Thanks a lot to those who have read so far, and I hope I don't disappoint. Onward!

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

Butler was ready to go, no doubt about it. The years of devotion to his Principal had left him needing almost desperately to find him, but he wasn't a fool. He had been asleep for six years: so much had happened that he was unaware of. Before loading up his weapons and shipping out, he had to make a game plan, and the first step of the process included watching the news. He waited through a few advertisements: a hair gel, a new brand of toaster pastry, and a report on the bestselling book of an author that he had never heard of before. He took note of all of these; he had found that in his profession it was best not to leave out any details.

"Butler, are you sure about this?" Holly was very skeptical about human news, as was Butler himself, but it was better than nothing.

"I have to know _something_ about this world that I'm diving into, don't I?" She nodded grudgingly; he was right, as usual. He skimmed through the fifteen news programs that the satellite at Fowl Manor received before settling on CNN, one of Artemis' regulars. On the screen was a picture of a clean-cut man, about forty, who had apparently been found in an abandoned warehouse with no memory of the experience whatsoever. The caption under his picture gave his name as Gerald Marcus Forsythe. This Butler _did _recognize: while working at the Manor he had purchased quite a few bottles of Forsythe vintage, the best American wine on the market. Despite having this prestige, he could not see what would bring someone to kidnap a man like him. Holly felt much the same.

"He looks pretty useless to me. Why kidnap _him—_and then let him go? Suspicious." He nodded, turning up the volume of the television:

"…only clues available to the police were an opened bottle of Forsythe vintage, made in 1945, one of the rarest years on the market. Also found at the scene of the crime was a crystal flute with only one set of DNA found on it: the DNA of Mr. Forsythe. Mr. Forsythe came into no physical harm, save for rope burns on his wrists and ankles…"

Suddenly Butler rose to his feet, going downstairs and into the wine cellar. If his suspicions were correct, there would be a bottle of vintage Forsythe missing from the rack.

"Butler? What's wrong?" Holly called down to him, but he was too preoccupied with the fact that he had been right. There was one space vacant in the wine rack: the space reserved for a 1945 bottle of Forsythe wine.

"Holly? I think we have our first clue." He pointed to the label that designated the missing wine and Holly's eyes widened. "Odd, isn't it, that Mr. Forsythe should lose his memory, just after drinking a glass of his most famous wine? No physical harm came to him, so the memory loss must have come from some internal source. But who is smart enough to create something like that?"

"You think that it was…him? But why? Why Gerald Forsythe? He has nothing that Artemis wants. Does he?" Butler shook his head.

"Presumably not, but as of right now, that is the only clue we have. I think we should head to America. After all, it would be the last place that we would expect Artemis to go, am I right?"

"You're right. Artemis wasn't very fond of it…especially after his last visit." Neither of them wanted to remember Jon Spiro. "To America?"

"To America." Butler went back up to his room and opened up his gun cabinet. "I'll have to pack lightly." He took his favorite Sig Sauer from its holster, along with a few stun grenades and a long-range rifle, just in case. In his suitcase he packed a few extra guns and ammo, hoping that he wouldn't need them and that Artemis was safe and sound.

"Pack _lightly? _Oh, what am I talking about?" Holly rolled her eyes and checked her own gun, looking out the window where Juliet was revving up the family's helicopter. "I bet you are so proud, aren't you?" Butler smiled, latching his suitcase shut.

"Very. Shall we head out?" Holly nodded. She couldn't believe it; another adventure with Butler. The only thing that made it incomplete was the absence of her favorite teenage mastermind. But hopefully, they could remedy that soon.

"Hold on, Arty." She whispered beneath the whirring of the helicopter blades. "We're coming."

* * *

Elais and Lillian stood outside in the chill of New York City, watching his just-recorded interview outside of an electronics store. They had only recently left the studio, and she could tell that he was unhappy with what he had just accomplished. She nudged him with her elbow, trying her best to make him feel better about something that he hadn't wanted in the first place.

"Hey. You look good on the tube, my friend." It was true; he had a beautiful camera face. The makeup team had taken all of the sharp edges and shadows out of his pale skin, and the fresh hazel of his eyes (that to Lillian appeared almost supernatural) sparkled in the lights of the stage. Of course, his expression was flawless: indifferent and intellectual, as he had always endeavored to be in the public eye. But it didn't matter; she reckoned that his sales would fly up within the hour.

"This whole thing was a joke. Some of the questions that he asked could have been surpassed by the intelligence of a dog." She had to laugh at that one.

"Don't be such a sourpuss, Elli." She had concocted the pet name for him when she had gotten tired of saying the whole thing. He hated it with a passion, but when she was trying to focus on shouting her client's writing onto the shelves, she tended to forget the intricacies of personal preferences.

"I told you not to call me that. It sounds idiotic."

"Oh, stop it. I think it's cute—and no amount of whining is going to stop me." He was stubbornly silent after that, pushing the sleek, dark sunglasses that concealed his identity further up his face. The scarf that kept his mouth and neck warm was beginning to itch at his skin.

"Lillian, let's go back home. I've become rather weary of New York." She nodded and began to call a cab. They had had to park their car in another garage, in order to even have a chance at escaping the crowd of vehicles that always seemed to clog up the streets. While she did so, Elais looked around him, taking in the sights and sounds of New York. 'Deep beneath the rancid surface,' he thought, 'there must be some kind of inner beauty to this cesspool of a city.' Otherwise, would so many artists and musicians be drawn here, called by the hoarse siren song of the Big Apple? As he let his senses wander, across the street he saw a trio of figures hurrying along, casting a very strange silhouette; their heights were so varied, that they could have been a lost circus troupe: small, medium, and very large. "Lillian?" His voice carried the faintest tone of unease, but for Lillian, it was enough.

"What?"

"Make that cab fast. I want out of this city now." She frowned, placing a sun-browned hand upon his shoulder.

"Elais, what's the matter?" He brushed it away as if it had simply been a greenfly that lighted upon his leather overcoat, struggling for life in the bitter cold.

"Don't pander to me! Get the cab!" He snapped at her, his voice practically frantic compared to his typical monotony.

"Alright, alright! But you are going to tell me what's going on as soon as we get home. You hear me?" But Elais didn't hear him. He was too busy staring at the back of the monstrous man, carrying an equally monstrous suitcase, neatly shaven head glinting in the sun, his heart clenched in fear and, perhaps, even a bit of hope, an emotion that he hadn't felt for a very, very long time.

The cab finally came and the two quickly crawled inside, savoring the warmth and trying to ignore the filth of the cab. Thankfully, the valet that had taken Elais' car—a Cadillac, in a beautiful shade of cabernet—to park had done so very closely to the studio exit. Elais tried his best not to let the backs of his thighs touch the stained cushion of the seat. Of course, Lillian didn't mind; she had sat in worse.

"Elais…what happened? You sounded terrified." He did not look in her direction.

"I thought I saw trouble coming, that is all. I'm not quite as used to New York as you are, Lillian." Elais had chosen a semi-rural location for the construction of his super-modern home; one that Lillian felt surpassed even Fallingwater in aesthetic beauty and function. How he had found an architect skilled enough to create such a magnificent house, she would never know. It was nestled right outside a minor city that framed New York's outer limits: convenient, but not glaringly obvious. A perfect location, for a writer of his stature.

"Well, don't fret about it. Let me worry about trouble; I know enough about that place to _smell_ trouble coming." He almost laughed.

"Not the kind that I saw." She rolled her eyes; sometimes he said cryptic things like that just to get in the last word. She decided to let him have it…this time. The cab stopped and the pair exited, much to the joy of her client, who dusted himself off and smoothed his hair. "So—let's get out of here, huh?" He nodded, settling himself in the driver's seat, drowning his fears with the burning stench of gasoline.

* * *

Butler, Juliet and Holly arrived at the hotel that was to become their base of operations. It was exquisite for Mud Man standards, Holly noticed, but then again, she shouldn't have expected any less. Butler was always certain to get the best. Quickly signing in they retrieved the card keys to their suite and made their way up to the sixth floor via elevator.

"The good thing about huge cities like this is that nobody questions how you look." Juliet mused as they rose through the chute. "Otherwise, we probably would have had to dress as a family."

"And I guess I would be the snotty-nosed brat, right?" Holly grumbled in response, and Juliet snickered.

"Well, I would say you would look rather nice in a little jean jumper."

After unpacking his things, save for the weaponry, Butler called the two women to the small kitchenette, where they sat at the table to discuss what to do next.

"Holly." Butler glanced over to the fairy woman, whose hazed eyes intently bored back at him. "It would be best if you kept a channel open to Foaly and the LEP as much as possible."

"Already ahead of you; I checked in with him before we got here. But as for the rest of the LEP...well, they don't really know I am here. Only Trouble knows why I'm here. The rest just think I'm on some urgent mission."

"You _are _on an urgent mission." There was no nonsense in Butler's voice.

"Yeah, I know. So, what's our first move?" He sighed, leaning back in his chair, which looked like it should've belonged to a baby compared to his size. Holly was almost afraid that it would break beneath him.

"I think we should go check over that warehouse. I know that the police have already combed through it, but…they don't have LEP technology. There may or may not be something there, but for now it's all we have. We'll go tonight, we should go unnoticed then." 'Should?' Holly thought. 'Butler is never noticed unless he wants to be. This will be a breeze.' Cracking her tiny knuckles, she gave Butler and Juliet a toothy grin.

"Should be fun." Butler then turned to Juliet.

"I need you to get into the police department and get any evidence that you can. I'm sure that you can think of some way to get in, am I right?" Juliet smiled innocently.

"Oh, I'm sure I can come up with _something…_" Holly worried about the police officers for a split second before remembering why they were doing all this in the first place. Broken bones healed eventually.

"Holly." Butler once again addressed her. "You may be one of the biggest hints that we have." She cocked her head to the side, a puzzled look on her face, until she remembered.

"My eyes…" The manservant smiled and nodded.

"There isn't another person in the world that has eyes like yours, save for Artemis. That link between you is bound to help us somehow." Unconsciously, she reached up and touched the soft skin beneath her right eye.

"Well, I hadn't realized how much this would come in handy." She sighed and reared her seat back onto its back legs. It was only a matter of waiting for night to fall now. That was when the work would begin. She hadn't been this excited in weeks. Her blood was practically bouncing in her veins for anticipation. A real challenge had come her way, and yet again it was Artemis that posed it…even if he hadn't meant to. Deep inside her, she hoped that this really was just another one of his hare-brained plans, his way of making Holly's life harder for his own amusement. But he wasn't twelve years old anymore, and she tried to remember _that_ more than anything, and tried even harder not to underestimate him.

* * *

Feedback please, and all that. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Lah dee dah, Chapter Five. Enjoy, I won't delay you any longer with drivel.

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

Lillian, satisfied with Elais' public appearance, left him be for a while, giving the young writer his space to think and shape his next great masterpiece. With a threat or two and a quick reminder to use his time wisely, she and her lime green Jaguar left his home in Scarsdale, NY, giving him ample time to plan. However, it was not his book that he intended to complete; it was the next step in his grand design. As soon as Lillian had disappeared safely into the night, Elias made his way upstairs to his study, where his desk had practically disappeared beneath maps, notes and empty teacups. Such clutter was uncharacteristic of him, but lately he found himself caring less and less about minor things of that sort. Clearing away the china and placing it outside the door for Hannah, his newest maid, he sat down and continued his labors.

Glancing down at the maps of New York and New Jersey, he quickly calculated that at the speed of 60 miles per hour he could be in Newark, home of the Russian Mafiya's American branch, from his home in 30 minutes, give or take some traffic. That would give him plenty of time to find precisely what—or rather, _who—_he wanted. Marking the route on his map, his pale hand moved next to his telephone, upon which he would call up the number that he had found in Gerald Forsythe's jacket pocket. 'What a foolish thing to do,' he thought, 'to leave such important numbers in one's coat.' Well, never he minded. Mr. Forsythe wouldn't need to worry about such things any more. Dialing the number, he waited for his contact to answer the call.

"_Ja?_" The voice was deep and rumbling, certainly not a man to "mess around" with. Elais was certain that with his little interrogation, he had saved Mr. Forsythe a great deal of pain. He adopted the Yankee accent that he had been practicing in the shower each night, ignoring its unsavory sound in favor of the prize that waited ahead.

"I'm callin' for Mr. Forsythe. He hasn't been so well lately, as you may have noticed." The burly voice sounded unconcerned.

"Forsythe is over and done with. More trouble than he was worth. What do you want?" Elais sighed inwardly; the coarseness of the Russian's mobster talk was grating to his nerves.

"I'm callin' to tell ya that our business ain't quite finalized yet." The corners of his mouth twitched downward at the use of the colloquial contraction. "Y'see, the boys up here are worried that our pockets won't be lined with what we worked for, that youse will forget us after…well, after Mr. Forsythe's unfortunate accident." The voice took the bait. He assumed almost immediately, like Elais had hoped, that Mr. Forsythe's associates had set him up. Too easy.

"Of course not, my friend. However, the business that you speak of…what is involved in it?"

"All we want is our rightful pay, see? After that, all deals are off. As far as we're concerned…" Elais paused, finding the right words. "…Mr. Forsythe will jus' be a bitter memory for youse." The deep voice laughed.

"I see. And, will you be sending an agent to finalize your claim?"

"Of course. One of our best, Mr. Vassikin. One of our best." After getting his directions and saying his goodbyes, Elais leaned back in his chair, savoring the small moment of triumph before dressing in his costume: the traditional black suit, accented with an emerald green tie, and a new pair of slick leather gloves. He had removed his contact lens and donned his sleek sunglasses. He didn't want Mr. Vassikin to know anything until the right time. Into his pockets he slipped his weaponry: a hallucinogenic drug that he had developed in his basement lab, capable of putting any witnesses in a terrified trance for a good twenty-four hours and clearing any inconvenient sights from their mind. It was nestled next to his titanium stapler, fully loaded, and a special serum that he was saving especially for his target.

Descending the stairs to his garage, he entered through the automatic door and gazed upon his mode of transportation: a rather large, black SUV, with plenty of room for an extra passenger in the backseat, willing or not. Smirking gleefully, he got in the driver's seat and put his keys into the ignition, trying to keep his heartbeat regular and his hopes contained. If this little coup succeeded, he would be one step closer to what he wanted more than anything else in the world…revenge. 'No,' he mentally reprimanded himself. But it may as well have been, for the thing that he truly wanted was dead and gone, buried in the cold Irish earth.

* * *

The New York night was dark and dirty, and Holly despised it. It felt unnatural even to her, a fairy who lived underground in that wonderful gutter that she called home: Haven City. Even it carried some sort of organic feeling. All that this city was made of was concrete, steel and smog, and an unpleasantness so strong that she could practically smell it in the air. She ignored her discomfort and followed Butler into the warehouse, both of them clad in black. She likened them both to ninjas, creeping through the darkness like shadows. Of course, Butler fit the bill much better than she; sometimes she swore that he could disappear and reappear at will, without the aid of magic.

"Holly, lights." She obliged, placing several tiny spotlights on the ground. When she turned them on, they burst into life, illuminating all but the very corners of the warehouse. Nuclear energy was a beautiful thing, as was Foaly's ingenuity. Almost immediately Butler went to work, combing the concrete floor for any sort of clue. She followed suit, adjusting her goggles—also courtesy of Foaly—through the various scans with which it was outfitted. Frankly, the centaur had had little time to explain how each scan worked, but she figured that if there was something to find, surely one of them would pick it up.

"Holly?" 'Speak of the devil and he shall appear,' the officer groaned to herself.

"Foaly? I hear you." Butler lifted his head for a split second, and then continued his search, this time with a miniature metal detector.

"Are you using the goggles?"

"Yeah, but I'm not sure how they work." With a click of his tongue, Foaly continued.

"Alright, listen up. The first setting is infrared, as even you must have noticed. That one probably won't do you much good, since all of the living tissue has been cleared out of the warehouse. However, the second one may prove useful." She flipped the view screen on her goggles to the second setting, not noticing anything particularly interesting.

"What does _this_ pick up, Foaly?"

"Well, it's a bit confusing to explain, but in a nutshell this view can detect the various ages and contents of soil. It was designed mostly for dwarves, for obvious reasons, but this may help you if some soil was dropped off of a shoe, or fell off of somebody's clothing." She nodded and looked around her. Bingo. In the center of the floor was a circle of very faint footprints, tiny specks of dirt showing up white on her lenses.

"I found something, Butler!" The giant bodyguard made his way over.

"I don't—"

"Wait!" She held out her hand. "You'll step on it." Butler's eyebrow arched over his deep blue eye, but obeyed all the same. "Alright, Foaly, now what?"

"Just stare at the soil sample for a moment. After a bit, the goggles will pick up the soil content, age, and any other foreign materials that may have been caught in the dirt." She obeyed, and sure enough, a reading came up before her mismatched eyes.

"Butler. Do you have something to write on?" She heard him digging around in his bag, and a notepad and pencil were produced, placed into her hands. Quickly she jotted down the reading: age was unimportant, and the soil content was much like any other place in the northeast, but the foreign material—_that _was what caught her eye, and she stopped writing. "Hey, Butler. There's a hair in this dirt."

"Can you tell where it came from?" She shook her head.

"No, the reading isn't that detailed, but if we pick it up, we can do it ourselves at the hotel." He nodded, and with Holly's direction, managed to retrieve the miniscule strand of hair and place it carefully in a plastic bag. "Well, Foaly, you've done it again." She regretted the accolade as soon as it had left her lips.

"Well, I _am _rather amazing, aren't I?" Holly wouldn't hear the end of this. "After all I…" She quickly turned down her microphone and smiled happily up at Butler.

"Let's hope this hair can help us out a bit, huh?" Butler nodded, and found his own mouth turned upwards in a grin that he was sure Artemis would have mocked as unprofessional on the spot, had he been there. He gathered himself and began packing up his equipment.

"Yes. But this isn't enough. Hopefully, Juliet will pull through for us, too." As they made their way back to the hotel, Holly noticed Butler stop in front of a television that sat in one of the Mud Men's primitive electronics stores. She turned around, hands on her hips.

"Butler?" No answer; whatever had grabbed his attention must have been pretty amazing. "Hello? Hotel, remember? Evidence?"

"H…Holly. Come here." She rolled her eyes and followed, but when she saw the face on the television screen, her mouth practically dropped open. It was a Mud Man talk show: _Larry King Live_, to be exact, and the man he was interviewing looked disturbingly familiar. Her eyes glued to the screen, her suspicions were confirmed when she heard the guest's voice, one that she would never forget in a million years. The old man, presumably Larry King, spoke first:

"So, Mr. Martin, with the advent of your newest book, _Solitude,_ what would you have to say to your projected audience? After all, your last book was, if I recall, pretty disturbing."

A pause, and Holly's heart jumped to her throat. The voice, though devoid of any sort of accent, was definitely the one she had suspected:

"Well, Mr. King. I should say that I would have nothing to say. My "projected audience", as you so aptly put it, is well aware of the types of things that one finds in a book written by me. I would tell them, however, that the book will not have a sequel. I believe that it is time to put our hero to rest."

By the look on Butler's face, he had come to the same conclusion as Holly.

"It's him. It has to be." Butler continued to watch, sifting through the pointless questions to get the real information. Finally the interview was over, and the pair of friends learned his name.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that was Elais Martin, author of _Camaraderie _and the new bestselling release, _Solitude._"

The two were silent for a moment; the filth of the midnight street swirling about them, until the manservant finally spoke, his voice cracked.

"We have to find this man." Holly nodded, touching his massive arm, which quivered slightly.

"Yes, but first we need to meet up with Juliet. See what she's found." He agreed, but before following Holly to the hotel, he lifted his gloved hand to the dirty glass, his finger parallel with the delicate jawbone of Elais Martin, his startling hazel eyes burning holes into the audience.

"Please…let it be you."

* * *

Mikhail Vassikin listened to the commotion in the front lobby with little concern. So Forsythe's cronies had sent some heavy-handed goons to muscle in on their profits. Let them come. The tiny turrets that were wired to each corner of the room would take care of any intruder that came their way, and even if by some chance in Heaven that they survived that, he could simply walk over to their bleeding bodies and smash their skulls in. It was a perfect system. Pulling a cigar from the pocket of his suit jacket, he lit it with a match, preferring them to butane any day. He had been in a decidedly good mood this week, especially at the news of Gerald Forsythe's "unfortunate accident", as his contact had called it earlier that evening. He couldn't wait to find the little bastard and make him pay for tricking him…even though his trick hadn't amounted to much at all. It was the principle of the thing that mattered.

The screaming wasn't stopping. He could still hear his men's voices, English and Russian alike, shrieking in what sounded like unholy terror. He growled and rose from his chair, cigar hanging from his substantial lips.

"Guess I'm going to have to take care of this myself." He grumbled to himself. What he saw when he reached the lobby he could not believe. All twenty-four of his men were writhing on the floor, clutching at their eyes, their arms, their legs, each whimpering and crying out in panic, all for no apparent reason. There was no intruder either, so it seemed. None of them had any physical harm done to them, save for what they were currently doing to themselves.

"What the hell is going on here?" At that moment, the barrel of a gun and the needle of a syringe were pressed to his neck, the latter piercing his thick skin. Before he hit the floor, he heard a faint voice murmur in his ear:

"You've hit the nail right on the head, Mr. Vassikin. _Hell_ is going on here." Mikhail's legs buckled, the world fading to black.

* * *

Feedback, _por favor._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six. It's gonna be great. Enjoy. :P

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

The hotel was dark when Holly and Butler returned from their reconnaissance; most of the guests had retired to their beds and the lobby was empty, save for the night shift concierge. They took the elevator up to their suite on the sixth floor, where Juliet waited, a victorious smirk on her face. However, when she saw the awestruck look on both of her friend's faces, the grin vanished and she made her way to them.

"Holly? Dom? What…what happened?" Butler sat down at the tiny kitchen table, still in disbelief.

"Juliet, we saw Artemis. There can't be any doubt. They were…they were identical." She gasped in surprise, sitting next to him at the dining table.

"What? Where?!"

"On television." Holly joined Butler at the table, setting her equipment on the floor beside her. "Apparently, he's taken on the role of a young author named Elais Martin…either that, or we've found his twin." She hooked up her communications device, talking while she did so. "Of course, there _were _differences. His hair was longer, he was wearing glasses, and his eyes were both the same color. But it was really that color that gave it away—he must have bought a matching contact to go with the eye that he received from me." Juliet nodded, twining a strand of her hair around her finger. "Besides, I'd recognize that cocky voice of his anywhere."

"Dom, are you alright?" He simply nodded, his mind still wrapping itself around the idea that they were so close to finding Artemis.

"All the same, we need to examine this hair. There is still the possibility that the man who kidnapped Gerald Forsythe and wiped his memory is Artemis, too. If that's the case…well, we have a lot more work ahead of us than we had asked for." Butler finally spoke up.

"We need to get to that author, Holly. We need to find out if he's…" She nodded.

"But here's the problem. I don't know much about this Elais Martin, but Foaly does, and from what he tells me, Mr. Martin isn't exactly…social. He refuses all of his interviews, and the way that he talked it was a miracle that he decided to show up on Larry King last night. We got very lucky." She turned on her communicator. "I'm calling Foaly—see if he can't find our author friend's residence. After that, we'll figure out how to get to him. Also, I'll scan the hair and see if he can't trace it to somebody." Her two friends nodded solemnly, their identical dark eyes boring holes into the communicator.

"Mm?" Foaly answered after a long forty-five seconds. "Hey, Holly. Kind of interrupted my beauty sleep."

"Save it, Foaly." Holly would apologize for waking him up later. Probably.

"Well, no matter. How'd it go? Did you examine that hair that you found?"

"Yes, but we need identification on it. We think that the Mud Man author you like so much is actually Artemis in disguise." This took Foaly for a loop.

"Elais Martin?!" He paused for a few seconds. "Come to think of it…I _was _monitoring his interview last night. Wasn't paying much attention, though. Listen, I'll rerun the interview and compare his facial structure with that of the files we have on Artemis. If there are correlations, I'll contact you immediately."

"Foaly? I also need the hair identified."

"No problem. Just send me your scan and I'll see what I can do." She smiled. They were getting close, she could feel it. "By tomorrow, I'll have the results, so just hang tight and get some sleep." 'Easier said than done,' she thought to herself. She was wired enough, but she knew that Butler would never rest until he heard the results. He was desperate to find Artemis, even more than she was. She only hoped that the results came in their favor; she wasn't sure what would happen to her bodyguard friend if they didn't. Curling up on the sofa, her eyes betrayed her and they drooped closed to the sight of Butler drumming his fingers on the table, his gaze fixed on the blue screen of the communicator.

* * *

When Mikhail awoke, he was taped firmly to his large leather office chair, unable to move, the thick silver adhesive holding him tight. His mouth was sealed similarly, and as he frantically glanced about, he couldn't see the mysterious man who had snuck behind him and jabbed him with…something. A gun, yes, and a needle. He shivered; he hated needles. God only knew what was pumping through him now. He was working up a sweat; hopefully it would loosen the tape on his mouth enough to…

"Mr. Vassikin." The voice, smooth as churned butter, belonged to the man who had knocked him out. A pale hand shot out from behind him and viciously ripped off the tape, eliciting a cry of pain from his lips.

"Y-you. Who the hell are you?"

"Who I am is unimportant. What is pertinent now is who _you _are: one of the highest ranking officials in the Russian Mafiya. But not _the_ highest." His mysterious captor, face still shaded with his sunglasses, walked out from behind his chair. "That is why I am here. To find out where your leader is hiding."

"Ha!" Mikhail barked with laughter. "Do you really think your little tricks can scare me into telling you what I want to know? I am not a coward like Gerald Forsythe was, my little friend."

"Oh, I'm sure that you are not, Mr. Vassikin. I don't doubt that you're skin is much tougher than that fool Forsythe's. That is why I came prepared. Do you know what I injected into your bloodstream?" He shook his head. "Of course you don't. It is a serum that will attack your body very shortly with agonizing pain. Quite simply, the longer you wait to tell me what I want to know, the greater your suffering will become." The phantom-like man, pale as Death, pulled the chair opposite of Mikhail's desk out and sat down, folding his legs gracefully. "So. Shall we begin?" Sure enough, his arms and legs began to ache with a pain not unlike that of a pulled muscle.

"Feh. You don't intimidate me, you little _Angliskii _brat_._ As soon as my associates find out about you, you will die a painful death." Mikhail reconsidered this. "Or maybe not. Maybe we'll keep you alive, see how much we can get for you, once we find out who the hell you are." The man simply smiled.

"I see." The pain in his arms intensified, graduating to a burning sting. "Are you ready to tell me what I want to know?"

"And…what is it you want to know, you filthy little bastard?" Mikhail kept a straight face despite the deep hurt that throbbed in his limbs. Sighing amiably, the ghostly man rose from his chair, and taking Mikhail's meaty chin in his gloved hand, jerked his gaze into the murky glare of his sunglasses.

"I want to know what your group is doing in Ireland, and I want to know the whereabouts of your Russian headquarters." The Russian mobster pursed his lips stubbornly. The raging fire that seemed to pump through his veins was almost too much to bear now. Beads of sweat rose on his forehead, rolling down to moisten his shirt collar.

"N-no." He grunted.

"Yes."

"Y-you think you-you're something sp-special? You th-think your fr-frightening, you little prick?" Mikhail laughed shakily. "The b-boss, he'll find you and r-rip you apart." His voice was cracking beneath the pain.

"Mr. Vassikin." The leather glove wrapped tightly around his neck, and the young man lowered his pale lips to his ear. "I want to tell you a story about a man. His name was Francis Walsingham." He paused, listening to Mikhail grunt in agony. "He was Queen Elizabeth's spymaster in the late 1500s, and whenever she needed information, she would send him to do the dirty work. He would do so without a second thought." A cruel smirk rose on his captor's face. "I find myself likened to him, Mr. Vassikin. I will watch you scream and writhe in agony until I am satisfied with what I have heard." His voice took on the tone of what Mikhail could only describe as a demon's, dancing on the line between horrifying and entrancing. "I've got all the time in the world." He went back to his seat and steepled his fingers, waiting for the dam of stubbornness to break in Mikhail, which it eventually did, bursting free with pleads for mercy.

"A-alright! Good God!" Mikhail was practically sobbing with the pure anguish that now pulsed throughout his hefty frame. "God help me…God help me…" This seemed to strike a spark into the young man's temper, and he ripped off his sunglasses, revealing his eyes: one a striking hazel, the other an ice-blue. Despite their mismatch, they were both filled with hate, a hate so concentrated that it made Mikhail Vassikin, powerhouse of the Russian Mafiya, nearly wet himself.

"There is no _God_ here, Mr. Vassikin! There is no _hope_ for you! There is no _escape_! You _will_ tell me what I want to know, or _by your God_ you will stay here screaming in agony until you starve!! _Do you hear me?!_" The man was insane, Mikhail realized, purely insane. He practically pounced on Vassikin, grasping the lapels of his suit, which was damp now with perspiration. He howled at him like an animal._ "TELL ME!!!" _Mikhail cried out into the night, disturbing the pigeons that slept atop the building.

"Alriight! Good God! Th-they're after the Fowls! H-he…the b-boss is going to f-finish what he started six y-years ago. God…" This seemed to quell the wild rage that overtook his captor, and he closed his eyes. When he reopened his eyes, they were as calm as the sea after a storm.

"Very good, Mr. Vassikin. I will give you the antidote if you agree to continue your cooperation." Mikhail's body shook violently with the pain.

"Y-yes, of course. Please, take it away." The young man approached with another needle.

"You see, Mr. Vassikin, everyone has their weaknesses." The syringe made Mikhail want to faint as it was plunged into his neck, but immediately he felt the pain slowly ebb away. "One simply has to have patience." He returned to his seat. "What is your superior planning to finish?" He paused, letting the pain further subside before speaking again.

"The…the murder of the Fowls. He's going to…kill them all. They're in his way…now that the oldest one is…a do-gooder." The man nodded.

"How?"

"He…he's planning on going underground. Planting…bombs beneath the…house." Mikhail was panting for breath now, the fire in his veins almost completely cooled.

"I see. And where is your Russian base of operations?"

"M-Moscow. Two…two miles out of the city. Please, for God's sake, let me go now." His captor found this very funny. A cascade of chuckles bubbled from his mouth.

"Do you really expect me to let you go now? I came here not only for information, Mr. Vassikin. I came here for revenge." He rose, pushing in his chair neatly, as if he was simply excusing himself from the dinner table. "I would recognize your putrescent face anywhere. You were the agent that was sent to kill the heir to the Fowl fortune six years ago." How the hell did he know these things? Mikhail was truly scared now. That operation had been so secret that the only other agent who had known was the boss himself. How did this nobody know? "Do you see what carelessness has gotten you?"

No.

"It was a botched job, was it not? You never got the chance to kill the little bastard, did you? His bodyguard got in the way. What a shame…" He turned his ruthless gaze to Mikhail; his voice was cold as winter. "You killed his other half, Mr. Vassikin. You cut out the best part of him. Now, you will experience the vengeance of what is left. Stay here and suffer, my unfortunate friend. Suffer and die." Vassikin laughed in sheer terror, a hoarse, desperate sound.

"You…you have got to be kidding me. You can't just leave me here! This tape will come off eventually! I'll find you! We'll find you and finish the job, you crazy little freak!!" Pausing at the door, the maniac removed a secret panel from the wall, where the turret controls rested. Mikhail frantically looked up at the ceiling. Sure enough, all four turrets were pointed directly at him. "No, no, no! Don't…don't! Don't do that!! Send me to the police! Turn me in!!" Taking the clipped wire in his hands, he gripped it tightly, as if unsure of what to do next. His eyes were in turmoil, despite the stoicism of his face. Miraculously, something inside of the boy that still felt pity dropped the wire and covered the controls.

"…No. You live to fight another day, Mr. Vassikin." As the crazed young man left the room, Vassikin felt his mind blur. No, no! Not him, too! Was he going to turn out like Forsythe? "You just won't know what you're fighting for!" He heard him call out and gritted his teeth, trying to hold onto his senses as his greatest fears clouded his eyes and scraped at the corners of his mind.

* * *

True to his word, the next morning Foaly called the hotel with the analysis results. The three friends gathered around the communicator to hear the news.

"Well, first things first. The hair belonged to a young lady named Cynthia Brunswick. She works for a maid service in New York, and was last listed under the employ of our man, Elais Martin. Needless to say, she quit on her own accord." Holly's heart leapt.

"Do you think we could find this girl and talk to her?"

"Most definitely, if she still works at that maid service. All you would have to do is go and ask for her. Pretend to be…detectives or something. I'm sure you can figure it out." She almost turned off the communicator prematurely, until she remembered the other analysis that Foaly had promised to conduct."

"And the facial correlations? Did you compare Artemis to Martin?" Foaly's voice was calm.

"Yes."

"And?!" It was Butler who spoke this time, his eyes betraying his need for confirmation.

"I checked twelve points of comparison on both of their faces, extrapolating for aging. All twelve matched—unheard of, unless they are in fact the same person." Holly could have cried from joy.

They had found him.

* * *

Feedback, _kudasai!_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven, anyone?

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Cynthia Brunswick sighed, pulling her auburn hair down from its regulation bun and putting away the tools of her trade: mop, broom and washrag all neatly tucked away in the supply closet. She hadn't felt this good in days; that bastard Elais Martin practically gave her a heart attack every time he spoke or looked in his direction. He was a cold-hearted fiend. It was a wonder people worked for him at all, she thought to herself, before remembering that she had done the same. She also remembered that he was the most popular author in America right now, and it all made sense. If it wasn't for the money or the prestige, at the very least girls strove for the job just to look at the man. He was an asshole, but she wasn't blind. He was beautiful, in an ethereal sort of way that only few people could claim—and the worst part of it was, he wasted that beauty shamelessly. In the six days that she had worked there she had only seen one woman in his house, and that had been his crotchety editor. Somehow, she got the feeling that they weren't romantically involved.

"Hey, Cyn? There's, um…some people outside wanting to talk to you." One of her co-workers, Tanya, yelled back from her spot at the reception desk. She huffed impatiently.

"Could you tell them to wait? I'm kind of changing here."

"Well…hurry." She obliged, quickly pulling on a white blouse and a pair of acid-washed jeans, both of which having origins in the mid-eighties. Her mother had been a child of that era, and she hated wasting perfectly good clothing. Style wasn't high on Cynthia's list of priorities.

"Alright." She entered the lobby. "Who is…?" Her gaze immediately stuck to the enormous man that stood before her. He was easily skirting seven feet tall, and what made him seem even more imposing was the fact that his companion couldn't have been over four. "Hello, there. Um…er, can I help you today?"

"Yes." The short one spoke first. She was pretty, in a pointy sort of way, and her sparkling eyes held no nonsense. "We would like to talk to you about someone. One of your former employers?"

"Is this about Mr. Martin? Look, if you want an interview or autographs or whatever, I can't get them. He hated me; he hates all of his maids. It's like he can't stand looking at us." The small one continued, unhindered by Cynthia's discouragement.

"Please, this will only take a moment, I promise. We aren't paparazzi. We think that he may be somebody that we know." Cynthia laughed.

"Are you kidding? Everybody knows Mr. Martin, he's the most popular author in the country."

"Personally?" That caught Cynthia's attention. Never in her life did she see Elais Martin in any sort of personal relationship: no friends, no lovers, not even polite acquaintances. Nobody was safe from his pointed tongue. She sighed, sitting on the patchy couch that rested in the lobby.

"Okay, what's this all about?" Thankfully, the gigantic man finally sat down, and Cynthia felt at least a bit more at ease. However, his deep blue eyes still pierced into her, and she looked quickly away.

"My name is Sally Hutchinson. This is my associate, Richards. We're looking for Mr. Martin because we believe him to be involved in a conspiracy." The short one flashed a badge. "LEP. Special organization in the government. We need your help."

"Whoa, whoa. Wait just a minute, here. You're saying that Mr. Martin is a criminal?" Agent Hutchinson shook her head, flipping the badge case shut and stowing it in her tiny pocket.

"No, we are saying that he is a _suspected_ criminal. We just need to learn a bit more about him before we can actually make any real accusations. We happen to know that you worked closely to him."

"If cleaning up his little messes counts as close. Besides, I only worked for him for six days." Hutchinson nodded.

"And during those six days, did you notice any odd behavior? Anxiety? Anything that could be considered abnormal?" Again, Cynthia had to laugh.

"Mr. Martin _is _abnormal. Everything about that man is…strange. He has no heart. I don't think I have ever seen him really smile at anyone, and when he would flash that grin at me…" She shivered. "I thought that he was going to…I don't know, _eat_ me. He's a monster."

"I see."

"Look, I don't know anything personal about the guy, only that he is a jerk. If you really wanna know something…well, I can give you the name of his editor. But that's it, really!" Cynthia nodded. "That's all I know." Hutchinson pulled a notepad from her back pocket.

"Can you give me that name?"

"Her name is Lillian McKee." The tiny agent scribbled down the name. "She has an office in New York City, but I don't know where she lives privately." Before they could get away, Cynthia piped up. "Hey—what does LEP stand for?" The two agents looked at each other, and the one called Richards finally spoke, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to rattle her bones.

"It's better if you don't know, Ms. Brunswick." She nodded, unsatisfied with his answer but too afraid to question the big man who bored into her with his fearsome blue eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Brunswick. You've been a big help." The two agents left Cynthia sitting on the old couch, her eyes wide. From the bathroom, Tanya poked her head out.

"Shee-it. What was all _that _about?"

"I have no idea." She shook her head, still baffled and intimidated by the frightening Mr. Richards. If Mr. Martin really _had_ caused those people trouble, she actually pitied him.

* * *

Elais sighed, the pinpricks of warmth from the shower, taking away the tension in his arms and back, leaving tiny welts on his ivory skin. He had lost control last night; he detested lack of control. It was no matter, though: it had seemed that that very lack of control was what had gotten him the information that he had desired. Now he knew exactly where to find the man who had orchestrated the greatest tragedy of his life. Now…he could properly thank him. He had spent the rest of the night, straight until morning, searching the Moscow area for men or women who could have the influence needed to control the Russian Mafiya. There had been only one possibility: a man known as Britva.

He emerged from his shower, toweled off his skin, which was now a pleasant pink, and slipped into his attire of choice: a pair of grey slacks and a blue sweater, not quite periwinkle. Despite the fact that spring approached, the little town of Scarsdale was still quite chilly in the daytime and worse at night; sweaters were still practical. Later, he would need the comfort provided by these clothes to put him in the right mood for scheming. He still wasn't used to doing it alone, even after six years.

"Elais?" It was Lillian's voice, but why was she here so early? Eight o'clock was early, especially for her. "I brought you some of those muffins you like. Coffee and tea, believe it or not, is not enough nourishment for a man of your age. Now, eat up, huh?" He walked into the kitchen to find her setting out the muffins, taking a couple of saucers out of the cabinet.

"Don't use those for muffins, Lillian. They are for tea only." She rolled her eyes.

"Fine. What _do _you use for muffins, then?" Elais smiled.

"Muffin plates." He thought he heard her say something quite rude under her breath, but he went to the shelf and pulled down two small plates, clearly not saucers. He sat them down on the table. "Lillian…"

"What?" He sat across from her, pouring himself some coffee into the cup that she had set out for him. Something was bothering him, she could tell from the look in his eyes.

"Thank…you for your concern." Elais wouldn't meet her gaze. If he had, he would have seen her face go red with a blush.

"Hey, don't worry about it, kiddo. You don't take care of yourself well enough, so somebody has to look out for you, right?" He didn't answer. "Elli? Elais?"

"Lillian. I will be leaving on a research trip in a few days. Make sure everything is still standing when I get back, will you?" This surprised her; she hadn't known that Elais needed to make research trips. His state-of-the-art computer always seemed to have the right answer.

"Um, sure. Can I ask where you're going?" He pulled apart one of the muffins with his long fingers and pursed his lips together. "Guess not. Well, listen, just…be careful, alright?" Elais nodded, and she leaned over the table to look into her. "This trip…it's not for research, is it?"

"That is ridiculous, Lillian, and you will never bring up such a ludicrous possibility." The quickness of his tone silenced her.

"Alright, alright." She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "I just wanted to make sure that you were fed for a few days, okay? The muffins will stay good if you make sure to close up the container properly." Starting out, she paused to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Be careful, kid." His eyes widened and she winked at him with one of her own, a vibrant green.

"Lillian?"

"See ya, Elli." She made her way out to her Jaguar, leaving her client genuinely confused.

* * *

New York City sucked Holly and Butler in once more, and she tried to ignore the terrible fumes that had only worsened in the morning light. She looked up at her bodyguard friend, trying her best not to smile at the happiness in his eyes. She, on the other hand, couldn't hope for much from this "agent". If she was anything like any of the other city-dwelling Mud Men that she had met, she wouldn't be helpful at all.

"So, this Lillian McKee. Do you think we can get an…ah, "appointment" to see her, Butler?" He smirked, and Holly knew that he had it all figured out.

"I grabbed a couple of my old fake IDs before leaving the manor. One of them should work." He pulled it from his pocket and produced a pair of cards enclosed in leather cases. It was Butler, there was no doubt about that, but he was in military uniform, and his dark eyes were shielded by a pair of half-moon glasses. The name read Colonel Xavier Lee. She raised an eyebrow curiously.

"How are you planning to use this?"

"Artemis and I used it once to steal a painting a couple of years back. However, it is inferred that Colonel Xavier Lee is very wealthy. If we go in under the assumption that we are making a donation to their cause, we shouldn't have any trouble. Money talks, after all."

"Especially to you Mud Men, it seems." Butler raised an eyebrow. "No offense."

"None taken, but it's a good thing that Artemis isn't here. He'd argue with you until the sun fell from the sky." She nodded. It was still amazing to her how much that the little Mud Brat had changed since she had first met him. Where once she had actually been a little afraid of him, now she was afraid _for _him. She just hoped that he wasn't in over his head.

"So…how am _I _going to figure into this picture?" Butler chuckled, and a very bad feeling grew in the pit of her stomach.

"Traditionally, Artemis had played the part of my teenage son, Alfonse. However, it could be assumed that Alfonse had a little sister…"

Oh yes. Artemis was going to hear about _this._

* * *

"Goddammit!!" Britva raged into the telephone receiver. "Can you idiots not handle anything correctly?!" He paused, breathing heavily, letting the sniveling voice on the other end give his piddling excuses. "I don't give a damn how smart this fool is! He's stupid enough to mess with the Mafiya—that is enough for me! Find him and kill him!!" He hung up the phone roughly, and leaned back into his chair, rubbing his temples. Outside, snow was falling. He cursed; he had hoped that by May the snow would have already stopped.

"Boss?" His new second, Kamar, stepped in. "The charges that you wanted were delivered today." An eerie smile spread across his face. Something, at least, had gone right today. He was close now, close to removing one of their biggest obstacles: that do-gooder Artemis Fowl. He should have killed him while he had the chance years ago, but it didn't matter now. He would just blow his whole family sky-high. The thought made the grin on Britva's thin lips grow.

"Good. Load them up. Tomorrow, deliver them to our men in Ireland. In three days time, we'll be submerging the charges. After that, there won't be anything that anybody can do to stop us." Britva sighed. He loved it when a plan came together. The loss of Vassikin was unfortunate, but it wasn't important now. He was a casualty of war, a war whose end was in sight. It was just a matter of pulling the trigger, and this time, he wouldn't miss.

* * *

Feedback would be nice. :)


	8. Chapter 8

And so the search begins...in Chapter Eight. :P Enjoy.

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT

'What the hell was I thinking?' Lillian scolded herself as she drove. 'Risking my greatest achievement on a little display of affection.' She knew full well that Elais hated physical contact of just about any kind, and she had gone and kissed him. Any minute now she would probably get the call, telling her that she had been sacked. Then what was she supposed to do? Go back to editing shitty romance novels? Children's books? Each possibility was scarier than the last. She beat her hand against the steering wheel of her Jaguar, turning her radio on to drown out her worries.

It wasn't as if she was trying to seduce him—Elli was much too young for her. Her thirty-six compared to his twenty-odd years made her feel like a shameless pedophile. No, it wasn't _that_ that had brought her to kiss him. He was like a little brother to her, a little brother who had been bullied or whose favorite dog had died. She was trying to bring him a little bit of happiness, she supposed, but it seemed almost impossible. Every time she tried to bring light into his desolate life, he deflected it with that acerbic wit of his. And now this surprise trip? The fact that he wouldn't tell her where he was going frightened her. His hours were becoming more and more erratic, and she had no idea what he was up to at night, but she had a feeling that it wasn't writing his new book. At that, her phone rang, and her heart jumped. Could it be that she was already…

"McKee." She answered, all business.

"Ms. McKee. There is a very special guest for you at the office. Says he wants to donate money to Martin's publishing company." She raised her eyebrows; her day had just improved.

"Really? What…who is it?"

"He signed in as Xavier Lee. Brought his daughter along too—name's Elisa. You want to see them, ma'am?" She smiled; this was very unexpected, but hey—if the guy wanted to spend his money on them, why argue?

"Hell, yeah. Send him on up to my office. Be there in ten." New York was already approaching on the horizon. She grinned and snapped her slim phone shut. At least she had something to keep her mind off of worrying about Elli.

She arrived at the office and took the elevator to her own on the fifth floor, her heart fluttering. Something about Xavier Lee…it made her wonder about this whole situation. She had never heard of this guy before. Maybe he was a newcomer in the charity business, which had become more and more profitable over the years. Billionaire Samaritans like Bill Gates and that Fowl sucker in Ireland had set a precedent, after all. It was amazing how much money could be made by throwing it around like confetti.

"Alright, Mr. Lee, what can I do for…" She opened the door and stopped. Both father and daughter turned their heads to pierce into her with their sharp gazes. "Okay, something gives me the feeling that you're not here for charity." The young girl smiled and nodded.

"Then you would be correct, Ms. McKee." Her eyes moved from the little girl to the huge man sitting beside her. "Sit, please." She obliged, carefully clicking across the room to her plush leather office chair.

"Can I ask…why you're _really _here?"

"You're Elais Martin's editor, right?" She nodded, taking her seat at her cluttered desk. "We're friends of his." Lillian almost had to laugh at that one.

"Friends? You really expect me to buy that one?" The girl sighed, pulling her pigtails down, adding age to her child-like features.

"No, we don't, but it would be best if you just…trust us, Ms. McKee. We know more about "Mr. Martin" than you could possibly imagine." Lillian smiled slyly.

"Oh, I see. You're trying to get favors. Well, sorry honey, but I'm not buying. You want fame and fortune? Get it on your own time, we don't deal in blackmail here." The large man moved to her desk, gazing fiercely down at her with eyes as dark as midnight, eyes that looked vaguely familiar.

"Ms. McKee." He spoke in a voice professionally restrained, reined in just enough to sound threatening and composed simultaneously. This was no military man. "I highly insist that you listen to us. What we have to tell you could benefit you in the long run. Understand?" She quickly nodded; she wasn't about to get her head twisted off. "Now, Holly? Try again." The girl named Holly continued to speak.

"Your client, Elais Martin. He's not who he says he is."

"What?" Holly sighed, and Lillian could see the massive man behind her become more and more uncomfortable.

"Do you remember six years ago, when the heir to the Fowl fortune, Artemis Fowl II, was reported missing?" Lillian had been in enough shady business meetings to deduce where this was going.

"You think…you think Elais is Artemis Fowl?" She shook her head.

"No. We _know_ he is." Before she could ask it, her next question was answered. "No, we can't tell you _how_ we know, which brings me to something else. All of the things we are discussing here; they _have _to remain a secret. If not, and the wrong person caught whiff of what we're trying to do…well, it wouldn't just be Artemis that would fall into danger. This includes Artemis himself—you absolutely _cannot_ tell him that we have seen you." As Lillian listened, she examined the giant man closer. She knew that she had seen him somewhere.

"He…he has a picture of you." Holly's face wrinkled in confusion.

"What?" The editor pointed back at him.

"Elli. He had a picture of this man on his desk. I've only seen it once or twice, and I always kind of took it for granted. I thought that it was an uncle or a brother or…something. You really _do _know him, don't you?" The man did not answer, but she could see something in his eyes, something that she could not quite define with words. She supposed that was why she was an editor and not an author.

"Yes. He knows him very well. Butler was Artemis' bodyguard."

"Oh. Well. I can _definitely_ see that. But, if you're his bodyguard, then why…" Before Holly could answer, the man—Butler—did so.

"There was an accident." Well, that seemed to be all that Lillian was getting. She continued to listen to Holly.

"Six years ago, somebody tried to assassinate Artemis. After Butler was shot and presumed dead, he disappeared. Now, we've been trying to find him for years, but we didn't have any luck until now. That's why we're being so careful. We're so close to success that we don't want to make any mistakes."

"Well, sounds to me like you've got most of the bases covered to me." She shook her head.

"No. You see, we've also been investigating the two kidnappings that I'm sure that you have seen on the news. Seemingly unrelated, am I right?" Lillian snickered.

"Yeah, that's what the news says, but it's obvious that those two had some sort of gang connection or something." Holly smiled and shook her head in agreement.

"Very good, Ms. McKee. The two men reported in the news were both connected to the Russian Mafiya, either directly or as an outside influence." She sighed, running her hands through her chestnut hair. "We also think that the person responsible for this is Artemis." Lillian couldn't believe this.

"What?!" Then she remembered the erratic hours, and the surprise trip scheduled for three days' time that Elli had been so reluctant to tell her about. "Oh, my God."

"Ms. McKee?" It was Butler who spoke; he could see her worry written on her face. The pieces fell together in Lillian's mind.

"I think…I think he's going to try something big. Oh, God. I think he's going to Russia." Both Holly and Butler nearly jumped from their leather chairs. "He told me this morning that he was leaving for somewhere in three days. He wouldn't tell me where."

"Then we have to hurry. Butler, we're just going to have to tell him." She turned back to Lillian. "And you're sure that he said three days?"

"Yes. But we have plenty of time." Butler shook his head.

"No, we don't. Artemis wouldn't tell you that if it were true. He could be gone by now." Lillian's heart pounded in her chest.

"So, what can we do?" She paused, pulling out her cell. "I'll call him. Tell him that bogus story that you told me. Maybe it'll stall him." She pressed a few buttons and waited. No answer. "He's not…he's not picking up." Butler's eyes hardened. "Alright. Listen, we have precautions for celebrities like him. Things that he doesn't even know about. If we can track him, then…" Both of her guests smirked.

"You're underestimating him. It's alright. Most people who first meet him do that. But trust me—after this is over, you'll never do it again." Lillian had the feeling that she was right.

"But we have to find him. How?" Holly smiled.

"Trust me; you're looking at the best of the best over there. If anybody can do it, Butler can." She nodded.

"I'll keep trying to reach him." But as the dial tone rang over and over again in her ear, she knew that Elais was long gone. Artemis Fowl had taken his place.

* * *

The plane soared over New York City, turning the huge city into a speck of dust smeared against the blue background of the sea. He was on his way to Russia, and soon enough, to his revenge. Twiddling his thumbs, he looked out the window. Clouds had replaced the earth, and the plane had reached a safe distance over the ground. He removed his seat belt, stretched out in his seat and smiled. Hopefully, he could finish this and be back without any trouble. For a moment, he felt a twinge of guilt for lying to Lillian. No doubt she knew by now that he was gone, and she was probably ripping the state of New York apart trying to find him. But she wouldn't. She couldn't. Not unless she had some serious help.

Which she did not.

In Butler's car, Lillian tried to hold it together. The way he was weaving through the rush hour traffic, combined with the fear that she felt for Elais, was making her sick to her stomach. Why had he taken it upon himself to get in deep with sharks like those who prowled in the Russian Mafiya? It made no sense, no sense at all.

"Ms. McKee?" Holly sat in the backseat with her; they were picking up one more passenger before shipping off after Elli. "Are you alright?"

"I don't get it. Why? Why would Elli do something like this?" Holly smiled sadly.

"Lillian…you don't really understand the full extent of the relationship that Artemis had with that man sitting in the driver's seat." She glanced up at Butler; he couldn't hear, too busy talking to somebody on his hands-free cell. "The Butler family, you see, are entwined with the Fowls—have been for centuries. At the birth of each Fowl child, a bodyguard is assigned to them to care for everything that they could possibly need. When Artemis was born, he was given Butler as his bodyguard, manservant…and, eventually, best friend. Their bond is stronger than that of the bond between practically anybody else on earth, save for possibly his mother. They've gone through so much together." She sighed and, after a short pause, continued. "Artemis watched him die in his arms. When I found him, he was covered in his blood, the blood of the person that he loved most. Why do you think that he is doing this?"

"He's getting revenge."

"Exactly. And if I know Artemis, he will never stop until he's gotten it, and normally, I wouldn't worry about him. But he doesn't have Butler with him now. He doesn't have any protection except that which he provides for himself, and unless he's been doing some serious bodybuilding, he's in for some trouble." She wasn't helping Lillian's nerves at all. Elli wasn't weak by any definition of the word, but compared to the muscle-bound man in the seat in front of her, he might as well be a fly caught in the web of the Russians: helpless.

"We…we _are _going to find him, right?" Holly nodded.

"One way or another, we'll find him." She looked up at Butler, whose full concentration was on the road. "I just hope we don't find him dead."

* * *

Sorry this one was so short...hope it didn't disappoint you all too badly. Feedback, please!


	9. Chapter 9

Alright, we're coming up on the final stretch, everyone. The next chapter will be the last. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

* * *

CHAPTER NINE

The construction crew unloaded the last of the mysterious boxes, following the instructions of the foreman and taking great care in placing them in the warehouse that was on the outskirts of the H.Q. O'Malley, the head worker of the group, tapped the box with his foot, chewing on his cheap cigar with rounded teeth.

"Aye, this'll be somethin' important, I should say. It's got the foreman all up in shambles." His workmate, Sheehan, agreed, eyeing the boxes carefully.

"But… what _are _they?" The labels were in Russian, so nobody was able to tell exactly what was in the crates. "It ain't…the drugs, is it?"

"Nah, if they were shippin' drugs, they wouldn't be goin' through here. This'll be somethin' else. Only thing I know is that they're headin' for Dublin tonight." He shrugged and took off his hat, wiping at his brow with his bandana. "Ach, well. Non'na our business, I reckon. Let's get some grub, eh?" Sheehan agreed and followed O'Malley out into the parking lot once more, looking back only once at the mysterious crates before forgetting them in favor of his lunch. Couldn't be too bad, the way he saw it.

* * *

In his hotel room, Artemis unpacked his things: a couple of extra suits, a book or two, and the tiny vials of chemicals that he had concealed on various parts of his body to fool the sensors at the airport. He had traded in his titanium stapler for something a bit more dangerous; something that he had purchased upon arriving in Russia. He did not know much about weaponry, only what Butler had told him on occasion, but he knew enough to purchase a gun with enough power to finish the job he was carrying out with no trouble. One shot to the skull or the chest would blow Britva to Hell in a heartbeat, which is exactly what Artemis wanted. No chance of survival. The only thing that he didn't like about that arrangement was that Butler couldn't get his hands on him, for he was sure that there was no Butler in Hell.

Then again, if there was no Butler in Hell, then he hoped that there was no Hell at all. Otherwise, he would likely never see him again.

Kicking off his shoes, he stripped down to his shirt and slacks, sitting on the bed and easing back into the pillows. He smiled in spite of himself; as usual, his plan had gone off without a hitch. Normally, that meant that something was going to happen to knock it off course. Of course, that only started when Holly came around. Maybe now that he was presumed dead he could actually pull off a job without her interference. He felt his heart pang at the thought of her. It had been so long since he had seen her…he could only imagine how upset she had been when he had left so long ago. It was best if he didn't think about it at all. He took his other purchase out of his bag: a CD player and a set of classical music disks. Placing one inside, he listened, eyes closed, and imagined that he wasn't alone in Russia, preparing to kill a man in a vengeful fervor. He imagined that he was back at home, back with him…the thought was enough to calm him to sleep, and he did just that, drifting off into the first night of peaceful slumber that he had had in years.

When he awoke, however, he was all business. Prowling Moscow with a careful eye, he collected a set of adequate mechanical tools and all of the pieces that he needed for what was necessary for the final piece of his plan: an electromagnetic pulse generator. After all, he couldn't have any cameras catching him sneaking inside Britva's little hideaway, now could he? Stopping only for a light lunch he made his way back to the hotel and constructed his device, and he felt that he was himself again: a genius using his great skill and talent to get exactly what he wanted. The next six hours would be unbearable, he knew; he was terribly impatient nowadays. But he could wait. He had been waiting for six years for this moment, what was six hours in comparison?

* * *

Lillian felt as if she was in an old spy movie: taken by mysterious people on a mysterious agenda to a mysterious location. They had picked up the final member of their team: apparently Butler's younger sister, Juliet, before starting on their search for Elais. If they were anything alike, she couldn't see it, save for the same tan skin and deep blue eyes. She actually felt somewhat comfortable around her and considering her fear of heights, Lillian needed some comfort. She hadn't bargained for traveling by helicopter across the ocean; she was accustomed to first class flights, safe and enclosed. She gulped and fanned herself nervously.

"So," Juliet spoke from her seat next to her. "You were Artemis' agent?"

"Y…yeah. Something like that." She giggled and twirled a strand of her blond hair around her finger.

"I bet you've been having a time of it, huh?" Lillian laughed weakly, trying not to think of the 30,000 feet between her and the ocean.

"Yeah, well. He was a handful, but…he wasn't so bad. I'm…I'm really worried about him. I mean, he's done some odd things, but…going AWOL like this…" Juliet nodded, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"So are we. We've been looking for him for so long that it's kind of hard to believe that we almost have him. I'm still kind of waiting for something bad to happen to stop us." Juliet smiled wider. "But let's not think like that. Right, Dom?"

"Mm." His concentration was obviously on the sky.

"Holly? I take it you concur?"

"Mm." Juliet rolled her eyes.

"Guess it's just you and me in the real world, huh, Lil? Can I call you that?" She shrugged.

"Sure, why not?" She shivered, half from anticipation and half from the altitude. Up in the front, Holly was calling her centaur friend, Foaly.

"How's it going, Captain?" Holly tried to keep her voice from betraying the emotion in it.

"I think we've got him, Foaly, but we need you to do something first."

"I'm all ears." Holly certainly was; it wasn't until shortly after they had left that Lillian had taken the time to notice the girl's pointed ears, just poking out from under her hair. She really had to find out what was up with that when this was all over.

"Artemis is going after the head of the Russian Mafiya. We found papers in his house detailing his route to Moscow. However, we don't know exactly who this guy is, or where in Moscow to find him."

"On it. Oh, and…Holly?" His voice was apprehensive.

"What?" He hesitated. "Foaly, what is it?"

"The Council is becoming impatient. They want you to come back." Holly frowned.

"What about Vinyaya?" Foaly laughed sardonically.

"She used up her influence getting you to go on this "wild goose chase"—that's what they're calling it now. She can't stop them; she might as well retire now, the way her star is falling. The rest of the council is giving you twenty-four hours to find Artemis and bring him home. After that…they are considering sacking you and replacing you with someone a bit less concerned with the Mud Men."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time. Who?" Foaly sighed.

"There have been different things flying around, but nothing certain yet."

"Well, listen. We're making our way to Russia right now. Twenty-four hours is plenty of time." Foaly didn't sound so convinced.

"Holly, don't take anything for granted. These Mafiya men are the same ones that tried to kill Artemis' father all those years ago. They won't hold back, especially if…" Foaly abruptly stopped, and Holly felt a stone of fear drop in her stomach.

"Foaly?"

"I've been tracking a shipment that came into Ireland yesterday. It was a little shady, so I checked in on it every once in a while, just to make sure it wasn't any threat to us. Holly…it came from Russia."

"Well, what is it?"

"Not sure, but it's being held in a construction warehouse outside of Dublin." Holly shook her head, hoping that what she was assuming was just her imagination, but she couldn't help but remember that Fowl Manor was just outside of the capital city.

"Foaly, you tell me where those crates go as soon as they are moved, understand? They might have something to do with all of this." This caught Butler's attention.

"Holly?"

"I'll get back to you later, Foaly. Find me that Russian!" She looked up at Butler, worry written all over his face. "Butler…this may have gotten a lot more complicated."

* * *

Artemis stepped carefully through the halls of the Mafiya base. Even if he had disabled the cameras, he wasn't about to make any mistakes now. But at this point, things couldn't be any easier. The little explosion that he had rigged outside was enough to send most of the minor cronies running out of the base, leaving only the kingpin and his closest subordinates inside, which of course was exactly what Artemis wanted. He felt the gun tucked in his belt push against his back, a subtle reminder of what he was about to do. A part of him, the part that hadn't died with Butler, told him to stop, to go home and see his family, to forget about revenge and try to rebuild his life. But there could be no reconstruction without the foundation, and that had been knocked out from under him years ago. All he had now is this.

Hearing voices from one of the rooms ahead, he ducked into a supply closet, keeping the door slightly ajar so that he could hear the conversation. What he heard brought a smile to his face. Too easy.

"Boss, there's been an intrusion." The boss responded in a deep voice, one that Artemis could practically hear the hate drip from.

"I thought I told you idiots to keep watch. Fine. Get him. Bring him to me, and we'll see how tough this intruder is." It had only been the tail end of a conversation, Artemis realized, but it had been more than enough. The second speaker in the room had to be Britva. He pulled the gun from his belt and checked it. Watching carefully the exit of the underling to whom he had assigned his capture, he slipped out of the closet when the coast was clear and opened the door, pointing the gun in front of him.

"Good evening, Mr. Brit...va." The confident smile slid from his face; the room was empty. Artemis looked around him, confused. There was no way that he could have left the room without him seeing it. He walked further into the room, examining the desk. Hidden beneath it was a cassette tape player, running out its empty ribbon.

He had been tricked.

Before he could properly react, a slim but powerful hand grabbed his wrist, pulling his arm painfully behind his back, the other patting him over, pulling his gun from his hand and the box in which his chemicals rested out of his pocket. His face was pushed against the slick wood of the desk, making any form of movement impossible. A pair of cold lips pressed themselves to his ear, hissing threateningly into it.

"You think you're a clever little bastard, don't you?" The voice was calm, and definitely the same that he had heard on the tape. It was undoubtedly Britva. "You don't know who you are messing with, my friend." He felt Britva's free hand feeling along the waistband of Artemis' trousers, and then the barrel of his own gun was pressed to his temple. "I really should. It would make my life so much more peaceful. But then again, I wouldn't want you to miss it, Master Fowl." The cold realization hit him: he knew who he was, which meant…

"How—aah!" Britva pulled his arm tighter against his back, his hand nearly pressed flush between his shoulder blades.

"How I know who you are is of no consequence. Let's just say that I have my methods. As I was saying, I don't want you to miss the show." Artemis ground out his answer, his cheekbone bruising from its pressure to the desk. Saliva was forced from his mouth in thin strands.

"What…show?" Britva laughed; an oily, cruel sound.

"Tomorrow, I am ridding the world of your God-forsaken family forever. Our men are already unpacking the charges that we are going to use to blow them all to Hell, and you…" Britva knelt down over Artemis' thin frame, speaking directly into his ear, his hot breath crawling on his skin. "…you are going to watch them burn. Then and only then will I kill you." Artemis' body tingled with terror. He had lost the game, and now his family was, as per usual, going to pay the price. And this time, there was no Butler to save them. He felt the pressure that Britva was putting upon him shift; his other arm was pulled behind him. "But I can't have you running away, now can I?" He wrapped a rope tightly around his wrists, the rough weave of the cord already digging into Artemis' tender skin.

"You…why kill them? What do you have to gain?" He slapped Artemis across the face, snapping his head back against the desk.

"_You_ are a prisoner. You have no right to question my motives." Britva smirked, a cruel slash across his face. "But, I suppose that I am doing it for the same reason that you are here. Revenge. Your father had always been a thorn in my side, once when he played the sinner, and now, when he plays the saint. I'm wiping you and your simpering family out for good. Your mother, though," Artemis gasped, struggling against the binds that were now wrapped around his legs as well. "I may spare _her_. I hear she's quite pretty. I suppose that's where you got your good looks, hm?"

"NO!" Britva's face did not change. He threw Artemis against the wall, knocking the breath out of him.

"Yes. Now I'm sure of it." He went to the door, flipping the light switch so that Artemis would be veiled in darkness, with no way to find escape. "It's a shame. You must have some impressive brains in that pretty little head of yours to get this far. It's a waste." The smirk on his face grew, his black eyes skimming over Artemis' body, which was sprawled across the floor. "I may have had some use for that mind of yours, if it wasn't such a nuisance." He shut the door, and Artemis' world disappeared with the light.

* * *

Feedback, please. Stay tuned for our final installment!


	10. Chapter 10

Well, here it is, the end. To everyone who read, thanks. To everyone who reviewed so nicely, thanks again. I hope you all enjoyed, and hope that it wasn't too dull. Enjoy this last installment of _Camaraderie and Solitude._

* * *

CHAPTER TEN

Holly and Butler had finally made it: the headquarters of the Russian Mafiya. Foaly had, yet again, pulled through for her; he had found the location in minutes. They had taken a short detour to Ireland to drop off Juliet and Lillian, in the event that something were to happen to Artemis' family, and continued on, arriving in the dark of night, the snow swirling in the air and landing gracefully on the visor of her helmet. Something had obviously happened there already; the guard dogs were on high alert, some of them had even brought out dogs of their own, in the literal sense. Whatever was inside there was holed up as tight as a dwarf in a granite deposit.

"Butler? Any ideas?" He scowled, fingering his weapon.

"I have a few." Holly sighed. The wind kicked up, as if goading them on.

"Any that doesn't involve blowing holes in them all?" Butler clearly didn't favor the subtle method, but he responded all the same.

"We could enter under the false pretense that we need to see Britva about that shipment that Foaly is tracking. If that doesn't work…well, I'm pretty sure out only other option is..." She nodded in agreement.

"I'll back you up, alright? I can't really think of a viable disguise for myself in this situation." He loaded his Sig Sauer and tucked it away. "I'll stay invisible until you need me."

"Of course." She stepped back into the dark, letting Butler approach, his hands raised in an unarmed position. If it wouldn't have jeopardized the mission, she would have laughed out loud at the irony of it all. Those henchmen had no idea what was knocking on their front door.

"Who goes there?" The head toady called out to Butler in his native tongue.

"I need to see Britva about the shipment." The manservant responded in perfect Russian.

"The boss isn't seeing anyone now. He's busy." Butler kept pushing, crossing his arms threateningly and glowering down upon them.

"The shipment is just sitting around. I need to get his instructions. Personally." The toady was falling for it, bit by bit. Intimidation was a tool that Butler applied with aplomb, even after six years of forced retirement. He turned to his fellow underling and muttered, keeping an eye on the bodyguard.

"Does the boss know this guy is here?" He shrugged. "Come on, then. We'll see about this." He motioned for Butler to follow, and he did so. Activating her magic, Holly made herself invisible, quickly slipping through the door before it closed. She followed them through the halls, keeping an eye out for any rooms that Artemis could be trapped in. The gloom seemed impermeable; terrible things had happened here. "What is your name, friend?" The toady spoke again to Butler.

"Arnott." He said quickly, pulling a random name from his many aliases. The toadies seemed to buy it; clearly, they weren't high enough on the totem pole to deal in names. They stopped at a closed door. No light was coming from beneath it.

"Boss? A man named Arnott is here to see you." There was no answer, but a man dressed in a crisp black suit approached the men from behind, a smile on his fleshy lips. Holly knew just from the malevolent glint in his eyes that the man was Britva.

"Gentlemen?" Britva stopped, looking over Butler curiously. "Who is this?"

"He says he's here about the shipment, boss." The Russian smiled and gestured congenially toward the door.

"Ah, of course. This way." The toady quickly moved out of the way, allowing him access to his office. Butler followed, but before Holly could slip in, the door was smartly shut behind them, leaving the manservant alone with the boss.

She almost felt sorry for him.

* * *

As soon as the door was shut and the room illuminated, Butler pointed his Sig Sauer directly between Britva's eyes.

"Oh, my. I suppose you're _not_ here about the shipment." His dark gaze narrowed.

"I don't have time for your games, Britva. Where is he?" Britva's thin eyebrows rose over the black holes beneath them that held as little mercy as Butler's. Feigning ignorance, he mockingly rubbed his chin in contemplation.

"_He_? I'm not sure that I know who it is you're speaking of, Mr. _Arnott_." The gun tapped the flesh of his forehead. It was a warning, and Butler never warned more than once. Of course, Britva didn't need to know that.

"Artemis Fowl. I know that he's here. I will give you the count of three to tell me where he is, and then I will take you down and find him myself. One…" The Russian raised his hands in surrender, but his face was calm and unafraid.

"Fine, fine. No need for violence." He slowly reached down beneath the desk, and Butler trained the gun on him with pinpoint accuracy. Britva suddenly rose up again, Artemis, bound and gagged, in one hand and a pistol in the other, the barrel pointed directly at his skull. It was almost enough to startle him. "Here he is, safe and sound." He patted Artemis endearingly on the top of his head, which lolled on his neck limply. "I take it you_ do _want him alive." Butler wasn't intimidated, but he also wasn't stupid. There was no room for clever bluffing when it came to Artemis' life.

"Yes." The gun did not move from Britva.

"Then put that gun of yours down. I have never been good at physics, but I'm pretty sure that my bullet will reach his brain before yours reaches mine. Put it down on the table there and step back." As much as Butler hated to admit it, he was right. He put the gun on the desk, backing away carefully. "Our mutual friend is quite the sharp cookie. I can see why he's causing such a commotion." Britva growled, looking down at Artemis, whose eyes were mere slits, his breathing shallow. "He's cost me a great deal of valuable time and resources, that is for certain." Butler's anger bubbled inside him at the sight of the darkening bruise on his left cheek and the fading handprint on the right.

"Pardon me if I seem less than sympathetic." Butler spat venomously. "What did you do to him?" The Russian shrugged indifferently, keeping a tight grip on his incapacitated hostage.

"Oh, nothing that cannot be fixed. He certainly had all his little ducks in a row…or so he thought. He snuck in here, gun brandished like he was some kind of hero, and I trapped him, tied him up and drugged him with the sedative that he just happened to conveniently have on him, so he wouldn't scream bloody murder whenever somebody came by the door." He tricked Artemis? This was no ordinary mobster. "You want him back?"

"You're rather observant, Mr. Britva."

"Then I want access to Fowl Manor. I want to get what I want from them before they all die." Butler's eyes widened, a cold chill running down his spine.

"What are you talking about?" Britva scoffed.

"What does it sound like? I'm finishing what that idiot Vassikin couldn't do himself. I'm killing Daddy and the whole family as soon as morning comes. I just want to make sure that I can secure all of the assets that his bastard father stole from me." Holly had been right to leave Juliet with them. He hoped that she had been listening in and was calling her now to warn her. Before he could respond, one of Britva's subordinates burst in.

"Boss, the shipment--!!" Britva railed back at him in a rage, jutting the gun harder into Artemis' temple, eliciting a small moan of pain.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" At that, the crony fell and Holly trained her blaster on Britva, her _mesmer_ on full blast.

"_Put the boy down." _It was plainly apparent that Britva had a thick skull, and he held on to Artemis tighter, the hand holding the gun beginning to shake. _"Put him down." _Holly asserted, raising the blaster higher to level with the Russian's forehead. He dropped Artemis, gazing at the LEP officer dumbly. _"Now, sit down, take a break." _Britva obeyed, completely spellbound. "Alright, Butler, grab Arty and let's get out of here." Butler approached the _mesmerized_ mob boss, looking down at him with his dark eyes. Before he bent down to retrieve his young master, he kicked him in the stomach, sending him back into the concrete wall and knocking him senseless. That would be enough revenge…for now. He delicately lifted Artemis into his arms, his drugged body lifelessly flopping about.

"It's alright, Artemis. We're going home." Holly smiled, tears stinging in her eyes.

"I called Juliet. The mansion should be evacuated by now." Butler nodded, swallowing the lump that threatened to rise in his throat. He looked down at Artemis again; his breathing was irregular, but he seemed to be resting peacefully, his eyes fluttering beneath their lids. "We're going to have to hurry to save the house. I _mesmerized _some of our friends here into telling me that the charges are set underground." She paused, and then sighed heavily. There was only one man—if one could call him that—for the job. "I'll call Mulch." Again, Butler shook his head in agreement.

"Where did Juliet take the family?"

"She got them rooms in the Hilton on the other side of Dublin." He gripped Artemis tighter, as if confirming his presence in his arms again.

"Then that's where I'll take him. You go and make sure that Mulch is cooperative." She chuckled, running her hands through her sweaty hair.

"Oh, I'm sure he will be. If he knows what's good for him." She watched as Butler carried Artemis out to his rental car, making sure that they made it safely out of the headquarters, and then called Foaly up once more. "Foaly? Get me our favorite dwarf, huh?"

* * *

The first thing that Artemis thought upon waking was that it was too bright. When he had first passed into unconsciousness, it had been almost pitch black. He had been in Britva's office, he remembered, bound and gagged and thrown carelessly to the floor. But it was bright now, and smelled clean, not of blood and vodka. The pain in his body had gone, save for a dull throbbing in his head. Was he…dead? He glanced to his left and saw a digital clock, its synthesized face reading 2:30—in the afternoon.

"Arty?" It was a voice that he would recognize anywhere. "Arty, honey, are you awake?" It was the voice of his beloved mother. He felt a surge of fear rise to his chest like hot magma. Had he failed? Had his family been destroyed, and his mother kidnapped and turned into Britva's slave?

"M…mother?" He couldn't make out her face, his eyes still hazy, but he felt her cool hands touch his face, saw the bright outline of blond ringlets frame her blurred features, smelled the familiar aroma of peppermint on her skin. She was real.

"Oh, my baby. Timmy, he's awake!" He heard a set of irregular footsteps approach, the unmistakable footsteps of his father.

"There's my boy." His father's voice was cracked; he had only heard it break in emotion once before. He cleared his throat before speaking again. "Myles? Beckett? Your brother has woken up, come and see him." A pair of boys, a mess of blonde curls on both of their heads, came to his bedside.

"Hey, Artemis." He couldn't tell which of his brothers had spoken; their voices had aged too much for him to distinguish them, and their faces were unclear, his eyes still fuzzy from the sedative. "What happened to you?" He knew that he wasn't talking about the Russian; surely whoever had rescued him had explained all of that…

Who _had_ rescued him?

"Mother," He rose to a sitting position, the hardness of the bed making him uncomfortable. They were in a hotel, it seemed, the décor too generic and bland to belong to anywhere else. "Where…"

"You're in Dublin, darling. You're safe now." She smiled her beautiful smile at her firstborn, and he weakly returned it. It was an unfamiliar movement; it made his mouth uncomfortable. "Oh, Artemis. You've grown up so much…I-I thought I'd never see you again." He could tell that she was trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

"I'm alright, Mother. Really. But, I have to ask…who…?" She put a cool finger on his lips.

"Later, darling. Rest. If you need us, we'll be in the other room, alright?" The statement was innocent enough, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that betrayed something else, something special. "Stay in bed, now. Don't let me find you up and about." He nodded obediently, too drained of energy to argue. The rest of his family filed out, and another blur came to the side of his bed.

"Hey, Mud Boy." Another unmistakable voice reached his ears; it could be none other than Holly Short. "Or should I say, Mud Man? You're not quite as little as I recall."

"Holly." He smirked, turning his gaze to her cherubic face. He raised up in the bed, letting his back rest on the ample pillows behind him. "It has been a while…and you are in street clothes." She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms indignantly.

"Well, don't spread the word or anything, but I actually _do _have a life outside of the LEP." Artemis laughed feebly and looked up at the stucco ceiling.

"I take it that you're the one who saved me from Britva?" She didn't answer immediately, and he frowned. His vision had focused and he could see now that she had a solemn look on her face. He had seen that look before, and it always heralded some kind of catastrophe. "What the devil is going on? Holly? Tell me immediately."

"Now _that _is the Artemis I remember. Not that lifeless drone Elais Martin." She finally let a smile spread over her features. "I did save you…but I didn't save you alone." Artemis cocked his head slightly to the side.

"Well, tell me then. Who helped you? I want to thank them properly." She nodded, an idiotic grin plastered on her tan face. It only made Artemis angrier.

"Oh, I'm _sure_ that you will when you see him." He glowered at her indignantly, crossing his arms.

"Stop dancing around it and tell me who the devil--!" What he heard next sent his mind reeling.

"Artemis?" He stopped everything, his face frozen in shock. It wasn't possible. It wasn't _possible_."Ah, I see you are feeling better." Artemis' mouth moved to form some sort of reply, but the sound would not leave his lips, as if caught there by invisible glue. "It was me." His heart jumped to his throat, a lump forming there that he couldn't swallow. Quietly, Holly made her way out, leaving master and servant alone. Butler made his way toward Artemis' bed, sitting gingerly on the edge. It _was_him, he realized with wonder; he was as real as the indentation he made in the blankets, as the gentle touch of his hand on his own. Uncontrollable tears welled in his tired eyes, threatening to fall onto his pallid cheeks.

"Butler? Is…is it…" The manservant nodded, taking his Principal's thin face into his gentle hands.

"It is."

"But you…you were dead." His bottom lip was quivering now, and he reached up to touch his long-lost friend, noticing the radical changes in his features. "You look…marvelous. How is this…?"

"Don't count me out yet. I couldn't just leave you there, now, could I?" Artemis could hold in his emotion no longer. He flung his arms around Butler, burying his head in the crook of his neck and howling into it, his body shaking with racking sobs.

"Oh, Butler…Butler…" He finally pulled away, wiping his face with the backs of his trembling hands. His voice was erratic, his breathing labored. "I…I've done so many things…so many t-terrible things…and here you are…" Sniffling, he settled himself on Butler's lap. "And…it was all for you, Butler. All for you…" Butler stroked his dark hair gently, pulling his head to rest against his chest.

"I know. It's alright now. I'm here." He stayed that way for a while, listening in disbelief to his heartbeat, as strong as he remembered it.

"Butler…I'm sorry, I've been absolutely hideous. Can you forgive me?" Butler smiled, nuzzling his face into his hair.

"Always. Listen," He tilted Artemis' head upward, their eyes meeting. "I'll explain everything when we get home."

"Home?" The mansion wasn't destroyed? "What about the charges?"

"Our old friend Mr. Diggums managed to get them out in time in exchange for some services from Foaly. They aren't a danger to anybody anymore."

"And…Britva?" Artemis shuddered at the memory of his cold hand striking his face.

"There's no reason to be concerned with him, either. Trust me; his time is up." He smirked maliciously. "You'll have to tell me all about Elais Martin, hm?" Artemis groaned.

"Oh, don't remind me. I hated every moment of it. Since we're on the topic… what are we going to do about my adoring fans?" He raised an eyebrow. "Won't they be suspicious about what happened to their rising star of literature?"

"Don't worry about that either. As far as anybody knows, Elais Martin mysteriously disappeared in the Russian wilderness on a research trip, and the snow is too thick to dig through at this time of year. By the way, that editor of yours…Lillian, was it?" He nodded; in his happiness to see his old friend, he had forgotten all about her.

"Yes?"

"Because of the help that she gave us in finding you, your father has decided to give her some help in finding a new client, since Mr. Martin's untimely demise."

"Oh? And who might that client be?" He smiled against his Principal's skin.

"Well, you _do _remember how your mother wanted to write that series of romance novels…" Artemis groaned. He would have to remember to stay away from his parents' room for a while. He didn't want to catch any sort of inkling of his mother's "research". Besides, he figured he'd be too busy with his own to care.

* * *

THE END


End file.
